


The Collie

by YellowMustard



Series: The Collie [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angry Connor, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Bones, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy Reconciliation, Evan Hansen & Zoe Murphy Friendship, Fluff, Inspired by Ben Platt & Laura Dreyfuss's Pure AF Friendship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Sad Connor, Slow Burn, Soft Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Therapy, Treebros, benson the succulent, but they're both crushing in a big way, established connor/evan friendship, evan and zoe become friends, evan loves plants, everyone is gay and also a bit stupid, galaxy girls, this was not intended to be a slow burn when i started but hey, zoe is a good wingman, zoe kills plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: "This one day I was working, the senior rangers got an alert that there was this dog, loose in the park. A Collie. He was all matted and dirty, and looked like he’d been on his own for a long time, but he was still really pretty…” Evan suddenly flushes scarlet, gives his head a little shake, and Zoe gets the impression that he’d not meant to say that out loud.She wonders if Evan’s still talking about a dog.(Or: Zoe has a real conversation with her brother's best friend for the first time. Turns out there's more to Evan Hansen than meets the eye.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can't stop won't stop.
> 
> I haven't attempted very much Zoe yet, so I thought I'd give her a whirl. I got a fair bit of Zoe's distrust of Evan from the dinner scene at the Murphy's in the musical, as well as extracts of the novel where she's convinced Evan's somehow involved in Connor's drug habit. 
> 
> I've kind of written this to be in the same universe as "For Bad Days" - it mostly makes sense without it, but maybe give that one a read first. Basically, backstory is that Evan ran after Connor to explain after the computer lab incident and they've slowly become best friends. Meanwhile, Connor's been working on recovery and healing :-) No suicide, no Connor Project, etc..
> 
> Also this is a oneshot for the time being, but I might maaaaybe be thinking about making it a chapter story, exploring Zoe & Evan's developing friendship? Also with big emphasis on Evan/Connor? But I've never attempted a chapter story before, and I don't know if I'm skilled enough to make it work. Idk how y'all multichapter people do it, you're so talented ahhh.
> 
> Also I start work again on Monday - I've been on a break for the past week, which is why I've had the time to churn out a new story like. Every day. Heh. So I might disappear for a little while. I'll be back, though. I ain't done with these characters yet guys. 
> 
> Also just FYI: The comments I have been getting on my other stories have legit made me cry happy tears. I just. Was not expecting the response I've gotten. At all. So if you've taken the time to comment, or leave kudos, or even just CLICK on any of my stuff: thank you thank you thank you. You have made my heart happy <3

* * *

Evan Hansen is sitting alone at the Murphy’s kitchen counter, nursing a glass of water.

Zoe’s been having _A Day_. A stressful one. Band practice has been kind of taxing lately; they’ve got a concert on in a month, and half the teachers in the music department have been out with the flu, meaning rehearsals have either been cancelled, or run by subs who have no idea what they’re doing. Which means Zoe’s been having to learn her solo with little to no direction. On top of that, she’s got a Biology test on Friday that she’s not at all prepared for, an English paper to write, and, for the cherry on top, she popped a button on her favorite shirt at lunch and had to walk around all afternoon with it safety pinned together.

So when she gets home, wrestling her guitar through the kitchen doorway, she feels a flash of irritation to see Connor’s apparent new best friend, who’s barely ever spoken a word to her, sitting in _her_ kitchen all by himself, scrolling idly on his phone with one hand and fidgeting with his shirt with the other.

It’s not that Zoe _dislikes_ Evan, exactly. She just…doesn’t know him, because they don't really talk. And when he does make an attempt to speak to her he stumbles over every other word, and apologizes about fifty times per sentence, and Zoe’s not sure she has the energy right now, and that makes her feel a stab of guilt. It’s not Evan’s fault; anyone with half a brain could see he’s clearly got some sort of anxiety disorder.

So now Zoe’s feeling tired and irritated and impatient _and_ guilty.

And on top of all that, she doesn’t really trust Evan. Because _why_ would a shy, awkward, generally sweet guy like Evan be hanging around her brother so often?

What are his _real_ motivations?

Tired and irritated and impatient and guilty _and_ suspicious, then.

Zoe really wants a nap.

“Connor’s not here,” She says rudely.

Evan jumps at the sound of her voice; his phone clatters to the floor. He quickly picks it up, glances over the screen for cracks, and pockets it.

“Y-yeah, I’m just, uh. Waiting for him. Sorry.”

Zoe stares at him, expecting a bit more of an explanation than that, because who just sits in their friend’s house when said friend isn’t there?

“Your mom let me in,” Evan adds.

“You poor thing,” Zoe says, in an unaffected monotone. “Was she a nightmare?”

“No! No, your mom’s…she’s great.”

Zoe’s pretty sure Evan’s only saying that to be polite. She folds her arms over her chest.

“If you’re into unhinged Martha Stewart types, maybe.”

Evan laughs uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck. Goes back to fidgeting with the shirt. Zoe can see loose threads dangling along the hem from where he’s picked at it too much.

He seems kind of intimidated by her, kind of scared, and _god,_ why is Zoe being so _mean?_ It’s totally unfair to take her crappy day out on Evan.

“Connor’s not here,” she says again, trying very hard to sound like less of an asshole this time. “He’s at therapy. It’s his first session today.”

“Yeah, I…I know. That’s um. Kind of why I’m here?”

Zoe doesn’t understand. She raises an eyebrow at him.

Evan takes in a deep breath, lets it out.

“Starting therapy can be, well. A lot. You meet a total stranger and you’re expected to just explain everything that needs to be fixed, tell them all your problems just like that, problems you might have bottled up for years and years, your whole life maybe, and it’s. It’s a lot.”

Evan sounds like he’s speaking from experience. It’s the most he’s ever said to Zoe in one go, and it’s honest and open and raw.

Zoe feels awful.

“And…and it’s probably even a lot if you’ve got a therapist that you _like._ But not everyone finds someone they, um. Gel with right away. S-some therapists really suck, to be honest. And some of them don’t suck, but they just…aren’t the right fit for you, if that makes sense? And I mean, I hope that’s not the case for Connor, I really _really_ hope it’s not. I hope Dr Amery’s nice. I really do. I mean, shit, if she is maybe I should ask Connor if she’s taking on more new clients. Would it-would it be weird for us both to be seeing the same therapist?” He chuckles awkwardly, then rubs the back of his neck again.

Zoe can’t help but smile a little at this, and actually finds herself thinking it over. Evan apparently misreads her silence, because he stammers, “That was…a weird thing to ask you, I’m sorry,” and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Zoe resists the urge to tell him not to apologize, because she’s picking up that it seems to be something beyond his control.

“I mean, they have patient confidentiality and all that, right? It’s not like she’d be telling Connor all your secrets,” Zoe says. 

“I don’t have any secrets from Connor,” Evan says simply.

Evan’s eyes have gone all soft, and for the tiniest of moments, there’s not a hint of anxiety in his demeanor. He looks comfortable, actually comfortable in his own skin, and he’s far away, like he’s watching a movie in his head.

As quickly as the moment comes, it passes, and he visibly shakes himself out of it as he remembers where he is and who he’s taking to.

“I guess what I’m saying is…I just wanted to make sure someone was there for him. That he had someone to talk to, afterwards. Someone who’s, um. Who’s…um…been there. Done all that. Someone who gets it. Not that I’m an expert or, or anything…”

And Zoe suddenly feels like an absolute bitch, because she’d never even _thought_ about any of this. She’d been so focused on the idea that her brother was getting help, he was getting _fixed,_ and what that could mean for _her,_ that she hadn’t even considered that this was going to be…a process. And that Connor was probably going to find it overwhelming and crushing and _difficult._

And Evan’s still rambling, stammering, “I mean obviously if he’s not like. Glad to see me and he gets home and just wants to be left alone that’s fine, too. If he tells me to go, I’ll go, that’s fine, everyone deals with stuff in different ways, and I—”

“What’s your deal with Connor, anyway?”

“My…deal?”

Zoe suddenly just wants to get it all out in the open. She just has to _know._

“Why are you friends with him? Because I mean, let’s face it. He’s mean and rude and…and just, _abrasive._ And don’t give me that ‘ _oh, but there’s more to him than that'_ shit. Because there might be, but he’s still an asshole. So…so why go looking for more? Why bother?”

Evan gets a sort of meditative look on his face, and purses his lips as he tries to find the right words.

“OK, so…I don’t know if you know this, but I worked as an apprentice park ranger over the summer, at Ellison State Park. Trees are…kind of my thing. And every day was pretty much the same, which was great for me, to be honest, because changes to routine kind of freak me out sometimes? But anyway, this one day, there was this dog, loose in the park.”

“What kind?”

Zoe can’t help but ask. She’s a dog person, through and through. Evan smiles warmly.

“A Collie. He was all matted and dirty, and looked like he’d been on his own for a long time, but he was still really pretty…” Evan suddenly flushes scarlet, gives his head a little shake, and Zoe gets the impression that he’d not meant to say that out loud.

She wonders if Evan’s still talking about a dog.

“Anyway, the senior rangers I worked with got an alert about this dog. He didn’t seem to belong to anybody, and some visitors had called it in because he was really aggressive. He’d kind of backed himself into this corner, and some kids had tried to pet him—”

“Which is stupid. Bad parenting,” Zoe interjects.

“Right though? And this dog just went crazy, growling and barking, and kind of went for them with his teeth bared.”

“Jesus,” Zoe breathes.

“Yeah. Luckily nobody was hurt. But it turned out that this dog had messed up his leg on a fence. It was all torn up and bloody.” Zoe must have a look of absolute horror on her face, because Evan rushes to add, “The vets managed to save the leg, it’s OK!”

Zoe lets out a little ‘phew’ and Evan laughs softly.

“The point is, is that the dog wasn’t aggressive just for the sake of being aggressive. He wasn’t like. A bad dog. He was just scared, and hurting, and didn’t know who to trust. When the rangers came to get him he went totally ballistic, even though they were just trying to help him but he didn’t _know_ that. All he knew was that he was…he was in pain, and he was just trying to protect himself from getting hurt more.”

Oh.

_Oh, shit._

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re like…really smart, you know that? And like. A really good fucking person.”

Zoe realizes she means it, too.

“Not really, I just. I don’t think any dogs are bad dogs, that’s all.”

“You are absolutely wrong, but go off,” Zoe says coolly, planting her hands on her hips, and Evan begins to laugh.

“Oh yeah? Name _one_ deliberately and maliciously bad dog.”

“Ren. From Ren and Stimpy.”

Evan grins widely, shaking his head and chuckling as he goes, “OK, you’ve got me there.”

“Not just there. You’re wrong about something else, too,” Zoe says smugly.

“I am?”

“You said you don’t have any secrets from Connor. But that’s a lie.”

“…No?” Evan looks confused. Nervous.

“Yep. You have one secret from him.”

“What’s that?”

“You _like_ him.”

Evan’s face flushes, and he suddenly seems to find his shoelaces very interesting. He shuffles uncomfortably, shaking his head as he stares at the ground. He tries to laugh, but it falls flat.

“N-no…no, I…He’s my _friend._ ”

“Nobody uses wounded dog metaphors to describe _a friend_ , Evan. And _definitely_ nobody gets _that_ look on their face when talking about _a friend._ Yep, that look. That one right there.”

Evan brings his hands to his cheeks, either to cool them or to hide his blush. He looks so embarrassed Zoe thinks maybe she’s gone too far. He seems like he might burst into tears.

“I..I don’t—”

He buries his face in his hands completely, hanging his head, like a child playing hide-and-seek. He’s silent for a long time, and when he finally speaks, the words are meek and frightened and barely-there quiet, muffled by his palms.

“…Please don’t say anything to him.”

“Of course I won’t. But you should.”

“I don’t want…I mean, he doesn’t…” Evan’s shaking his head again, his hands balling into frustrated fists as his arms drop helplessly to his sides.

“He does. So, wrong about three things. I take back what I said, you’re not that fucking smart.”

Evan is staring at Zoe, still red-faced and nervous, but with an awed look in his eyes.

Zoe doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone look so hopeful in her life.

“He…he does?”

“Well, I can’t confirm 100%, to be fair. But he gets that same face, sometimes. I’m pretty sure it’s only when he’s texting you. And he blushes a lot every time mom asks about you.”

“He…he…”

Zoe’s hit with a momentary concern that Evan might pass out. She’s not entirely sure how to help if someone passes out. Is it recovery position, or is that for seizures?

“And you don’t notice it, but he stares at you in the hallways. Like, all the time. It would be cute if it wasn’t. Y’know. My brother.”

Evan can’t seem to find any words to say. Good thing Zoe can. She’s kind of enjoying this, if she’s honest.

“He likes you. I’d bet money on it. He _totally_ likes you. It’s the most obvious thing in the world.”

Evan’s still standing there, red-faced and shaking, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So Zoe shrugs, feigns nonchalance, hoists her guitar over her shoulders and starts heading upstairs.

The second her back is to Evan she finds she can’t wipe the grin from her face.

“Wait, you can’t go now!” Evan yelps.

Zoe’s halfway up the stairs, and turns back to face him. He still looks flabbergasted, comically so, his eyes wide and astonished and his fingers tugging at his shirt with newfound fervor.

“What am I meant to do with this information? You have to help me. _I have anxiety, Zoe!_”

Zoe bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from giggling.

“Well, “ Zoe says, managing a casual tone of voice, “He’s probably not gonna be home for another hour or so. Come sit with me. We can spitball some ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“Operation Dog Adoption,” She says. She smiles at him in a way that she hopes is encouraging, then turns on her heel and continues up the stairs.

And Evan, not unlike a puppy dog himself, scampers after her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan is the first to speak. His voice is soft and soothing, and Zoe’s mind darts back to the image of the Collie, frightened and hurt and alone in the vast expanse of the national park.
> 
> “Hey,” says Evan gently. He doesn't take his eyes off of Connor. “How’d it go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again whattup!!
> 
> I'm still not entirely sure where I'm going with this, not gonna lie! But I have a few chapters ahead mapped out so lets see what happens! 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely feedback for the first chapter. You guys are gorgeous and I love you xoxoxox
> 
> TW: one minor mention of self-harm but nothing graphic.

* * *

In all of his seventeen years, Evan Hansen has never been in a girl’s bedroom before.

Zoe doesn’t know this for certain, of course. But judging by his robotic stance, the way he hesitates in her doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s afraid to touch anything, the uncomfortable clearing of his throat…

Well. Yeah.

Zoe thinks her hypothesis is pretty accurate.

Zoe dumps her guitar next to her nightstand, then busies herself with lighting her favorite scented candle like she always does when she gets home. She kicks off her shoes, toes off her socks, and shuffles a pile of unfinished homework from her bed to her desk. She plugs her phone into her charger, checks her notifications. Straightens the guitar from where it’s tipped over.

And Evan’s still standing in the doorway.

He picks at his fingernails, and his eyes dart nervously around Zoe’s room.

“You can come in,” Zoe tells him, hoping her casual tone will make Evan feel more at ease.

He takes a cautious step inside and looks around, at the fairy lights wound around the bed-frame and the photographs decorating the walls and the piles of sheet music discarded in the corner.

He looks so out of place, so uneasy as he stands there glancing around, and Zoe finds herself wishing she knew how to distract this poor boy into chilling out a little.

Thankfully, Evan finds a suitable distraction himself.

“Jesus, what have you done to this little guy?”

He’s crossing the room towards her desk with sudden interest. Zoe cranes her neck to see what’s caught his attention.

On her desk sits a little terracotta pot with a rather sad, shriveled succulent inside.

“Oh, Benson? Yeah, he’s…seen better days, I know. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.”

“You named him Benson?” There’s a tiny smile pulling at the edge of Evan’s mouth, and his eyes are sparkling with sudden amusement. “That’s um…that’s cool. I name my plants, too. I uh. Thought maybe I was just weird.”

Evan returns his attention to the wilting little buds of the succulent. He holds it up to the light, inspecting it with a critical expression.

“He’s drowning. How often have you been watering him?”

“Like....every day, I guess?”

“Every _day_?”

Wrong answer, apparently. Evan sounds completely horrified.

“Is that…should I not be doing that?” Zoe asks sheepishly.

“Every three days, at most. Put him somewhere sunny and wait until the soil is completely dry. _Completely. Then_ you can start watering him again.”

Zoe can’t help but feel she’s just received a proper dressing down. For some reason it makes her want to laugh.

“Gotcha,” Zoe says. She bounces up from her bed, and moves Benson from the desk to the windowsill.

Evan looks pleased.

The time passes smoothly, after that. They talk plants for a while, and Evan sort of scrunches up his face in displeasure as Zoe talks about all the plants she’s accidentally killed over the past few years, interjecting here and there ( _A cactus? How do you even kill a cactus, Zoe, they’re like…indestructible?)_. They talk jazz band and school and teachers they both hate.

Evan tugs on the hem of his t-shirt for the first twenty minutes or so, his posture rigid as he sits on the very edge of Zoe’s bed, fingers twisting and pulling. He pinches the fabric between his thumb and index finger and twirls it into a little tornado, then smooths it out again. Rinse and repeat.

Zoe almost starts getting tired of looking at him wearing down the fabric, but after a little while…he stops.

His shoulders seem to relax a little, too.

It makes Zoe smile. When Connor’s around, she always feels like she’s responsible for riling him up, just by existing.

It feels nice to calm someone down for a change.

Evan talks about Connor, too.

Just a little.

He gets a shy, introspective smile on his face every time he even says Connor’s name, and he doesn’t meet Zoe’s eyes as he vaguely dots their conversation with the tiniest details, that Connor is _trustworthy_ and _loyal_ and _funny_. There’s something so honest about Evan’s facial expressions that Zoe almost wants to believe him, believe all the wonderful things he has to say about Connor.

Maybe one day.

At around six, Zoe hears the front door slam.

She freezes, shoots Evan a look, and clearly Evan’s heard it, too. He’s stopped talking mid-sentence, once again perched on the edge of Zoe’s bed, peering into the open doorway in anticipation.

They both hear the clomping of combat boots climbing the stairs.

But there’s no yelling, no screaming, no obvious sounds of anger or distress.

Zoe clears her throat.

“Connor?” She calls, tentatively. 

The footfalls stop.

“Connor, um…Evan’s here?”

Connor’s thin, drawn face peers around Zoe’s doorway. If he’s surprised to see his best friend in his sister’s bedroom, he doesn’t show it.

He doesn’t seem to show much expression at all, actually.

Evan is the first to speak. His voice is soft and soothing, and Zoe’s mind darts back to the image of the Collie, frightened and hurt and alone in the vast expanse of the national park.

“Hey,” says Evan gently. “How’d it go?”

Connor mashes his lips together. His face looks strained, like he’s fighting hard to hold something back. He stares at Zoe’s rug like it’s personally offended him.

“Good,” he says tightly. “It was good.”

Connor finally looks up and meets Evan’s eyes.

Zoe tries not to visibly startle when he promptly bursts into tears.

Evan’s at his side in an instant, like it’s automatic, like a gravitational force has pulled him there. He’s got an arm around Connor’s shoulders and is gently tugging him to sit on Zoe’s bed, and Zoe quickly scoots over to make room for him.

And Connor sobs.

Sobs and sobs, with both hands pressed hard against his face, hair forming a curtain around him. Every now and then he chokes out an uncharacteristically meek little apology through his tears.

And Evan’s rubbing his shoulder, gently crooning _it’s OK, you’re OK._

Zoe almost feels like she’s interrupting something. There’s something strangely intimate about it. Evan seems to know exactly what to do to calm Connor, to make him feel safe. He doesn’t seem shocked by Connor’s sudden outburst either; if anything, the calm resignation in his voice as he soothes Connor makes it seem like he was almost expecting it.

Zoe certainly wasn’t expecting it.

She’s used to outbursts from her brother, sure.

But Zoe’s used to fists in walls and complaints from neighbors. She’s used to rage and ice and slamming doors.

Zoe can’t remember the last time she saw her brother cry like this.

Tentatively, she reaches out and places her hand on Connor’s forearm.

She’s not sure why. It just…feels like the right thing. Like something she wants to do.

“Sorry,” Connor croaks again. He tucks his hands inside his hoodies sleeves and drags the fabric over his face. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m fucking…it _was_ good. It was really good.” He lets out a watery laugh. “I know you’re probably getting some…pretty mixed fucking signals here but. It really was good.”

Evan laughs quietly, empathetically.

“I get it, don’t worry. It’s…it’s a lot. Zoe and I were talking about that, actually, before—”

Connor’s head jerks up, towards Zoe. Like he’s noticing her for the first time.

“Hey,” he mumbles awkwardly. Then, “sorry.”

Zoe frowns a little.

“What for?”

“I dunno…invading your space? I can go, if you want.”

And through tears and mucus and a throat swollen from crying, Connor almost sounds…humiliated? Like he’s ashamed of himself, not just for crying, but for crying in front of _Zoe._

Accepting, too. Like he _knows_ Zoe’s going to tell him to go away.

Like he _knows_ Zoe doesn’t want him there.

Shit. When had this all gone so _wrong_?

“Stay,” Zoe says softly. “You can stay. If you want.”

Connor sniffles. Evan reaches for the box of Kleenex on Zoe’s nightstand and plops it into Connor’s lap, and Connor offers Evan a wobbly smile.

“You wanna talk about it?” Evan asks.

He’s still got an arm around Connor’s shoulders, and from afar, Zoe supposes it would look entirely platonic. Just a guy looking after his very distraught buddy. Just bros being bros. But sitting this close, Zoe sees something far too warm, far too soft, and definitively un-bro-y in Evan’s eyes.

Evan looks at her brother like he never wants to look at anything else ever again.

“Connor…?” Evan probes, his voice still low and gentle.

Connor lets out a shuddering breath. Sniffles again, then pushes his hair away from his face, where it’s sticking to the tears on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says, to Zoe’s surprise. “Yeah, actually.”

Evan sort of unravels himself from where he’s been practically curled around Connor, and Zoe would swear her brother seems to droop a little in disappointment. Evan swivels so he’s facing Connor, giving him his undivided attention.

“She’s…Cass, she told me to call her Cass. She’s um. Really great,” Connor begins, haltingly.

Zoe finds herself giving Connor’s forearm an encouraging little squeeze.

“She um. We talked about what’s been…going on for me, and everything. She made me set some personal goals. It was kind of…kind of awful writing everything down, seeing it all on paper but. Um. It was nice to have some short-term things I can do? She’s all about making goals like…achievable or whatever. Y’know. Baby steps and shit.”

Connor sniffles again and rubs at his eyes.

“It was just nice that she…she didn’t seem to think I’m a total fuckup. Like I told her about all the yelling and just how…how fucking _sad_ I get, and how _angry_ , and all the terrible shit I’ve done, and she didn’t—she didn’t—”

Connor’s voice has begun wavering again.

Zoe gives his forearm another squeeze.

When she looks down, she realizes that at some point, Evan has started holding his hand.

“She’s not judging you,” offers Evan softly.

Connor’s eyes once again well with tears.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, she just…You know what she said to me, as I was leaving? She looked me dead in the face and said she was _sorry._ She said she was sorry I’d had to—” Connor’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. He keeps his eyes trained to the ground, like he knows that if he looks at either Zoe or Evan he’ll completely lose it.

“She said she was sorry I’d had to suffer on my own for so long. And that she’s happy to be helping me now.”

Connor cries a little more, after that. He talks about his short-term goals, what Cass wants him to focus on (the most important thing being to find other ways to release his frustration that don’t involve hurting himself). He talks about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and how Cass mentioned possibly using it in conjunction with anti-depressants, but that they’d go into that more next week. He talks about the questionnaire he’d had to complete before his session, how confronting some of the questions were. He talks about Cass’s office; she’s got a huge collection of goofy fridge magnets stuck to the side of a filing cabinet. Connor’s favorite has a picture of Sigmund Freud wearing a straitjacket.

Evan and Zoe listen. Just listen. Evan adds little sympathetic comments here and there. Zoe’s content to just take in everything her brother has to say.

It’s the most Connor’s spoken to her in months. Years, even.

She holds onto his forearm the entire time.

The sky outside begins to darken. Nobody gets up to switch on the light. Zoe’s scented candle flickers, casting a tremulous golden glow over the three of them, crammed side-by-side on Zoe’s bed.

Eventually, Evan’s phone buzzes, repeatedly, insistently. His mom. Connor tells him to go, that it’s fine, he’ll be fine, and Evan offers to stay about fifty times before finally accepting that he probably _should_ go home.

They hug at the front door for a long long time.

Once Evan’s gone, Zoe flops onto her bed, staring into the glow of the candle. Just…processing.

Not that much has changed, really. But everything feels different.

Connor pokes his head into her doorway as he returns to his own bedroom. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. Instead, he offers her an amicable little nod, and a half-smile.

Zoe smiles back.

It’s the tiniest gesture, but it feels enormous.

Later, at around ten, Zoe’s phone buzzes. Then again. And again.

**Evan:** hey sorry if this is weird its evan. i found u on facebook coz i wanted to send you a msg. hope u don’t mind but could u like just keep an eye on connor tonight? today was just a lot for him. just wanna make sure he’s ok

**Evan:** and obviously I’ll have my phone nxt to me all night so if he’s not ok you can just give me a txt and i can come back? if that’s what he needs?

**Evan:** not that I think u cant handle connor urself or anything, you’ve known him ur whole life. Im just saying. just pls check on him when u can. I just wanna know if he’s doing ok

**Evan:** sorry ill stop msging u

**Evan:** but hes ok tho right????? and you would let me know if he wasn’t, right???

**Evan:** sorry

Zoe laughs. A real laugh, too loud in the quiet of the Murphy household, because _oh my god_ Evan is so completely and totally _gone_ for her brother.

**Zoe:** jesus christ u need to RELAX u useless lovestruck gay

Zoe hesitates, her fingers hovering over her phone.

She types one more message.

**Zoe:** (and of course i would)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just. Fuck.” Evan lets out another defeated sigh. “Zoe I’m sorry but I am just. So fucking gay for your brother.”
> 
> Zoe snorts derisively, shakes her head. 
> 
> “Really, Evan? I had no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello it's meeeeee
> 
> Nothing happens in this chapter, forewarning. It's just a whole chapter of humor and Evan panicking because boyo is in ~luuuurrrve.  
> And Zoe/Evan bonding and being Good Frems.
> 
> No trigger warnings, this chapter's pretty chill :-) I just wanted to write something fun I guess.

* * *

“Zoe, you need to talk to your brother.”

Zoe can’t help the exasperated little tut that escapes as she wonders what Evan’s losing his shit about _this_ time. She swipes a donut from the box on her bed and takes as big a bite as she can. Jelly oozes out the other end and lands wetly on her open physics textbook, and Zoe swears under her breath as she mops up the mess.

“Do I now?” Zoe says, completely unbothered by Evan’s obvious distress as she tries to rescue her textbook from permanent jelly stains.

This isn’t really anything new for Zoe, is the thing. It’s been the same for almost a month now.

Their routine is that when Connor’s at therapy, Evan will come over and pace mindlessly around Zoe’s room and rant, in breathless stream-of-consciousness, about her brother. Connor’s _eyes_ or Connor’s _smile_ _,_ or Connor’s _intelligence_. 

Once Evan had talked continuously about Connor’s jawline for fifteen consecutive minutes, barely stopping to draw in breath. 

Zoe had timed it.

And it was kind of gross to listen to, because it’s her _brother_. But Zoe had been surprised, honestly surprised, because Evan says the _funniest_ shit when he’s not caged by his anxiety; when he actually feels safe with the company he’s in. Zoe had ended up cackling like a lunatic, that day, as Evan had ranted on and on, going _Zoe he’s just so pointy. Pointy is not supposed to be an attractive quality. But he is. His stupid beautiful face is pointy. He’s dark and mysterious and pointy. If we were living in the 17th century he’d be burned at the stake for being a witch. An extremely attractive witch._

So it happens like this each week. Evan will complain about that fact that Connor’s just wonderful and perfect and _so so cute, Zoe_. And then he’ll complain that he has no idea what to do about it. And Zoe will, again and again, tell Evan that he needs to _just say something to him, Evan, it’s not that_ _hard. _

It’s unbelievably frustrating.

Because Zoe’s kind of starting to see Evan as a pretty close friend. He’s a really good guy, and genuinely fun to hang out with. And it’s driving her crazy watching him go round and round in circles each week. She’s tried to help him, like she said she would that very first day. She’s offered loads of advice, actually. Compliment his art (Evan already does, probably too much), talk books to him (it’s already a frequent topic of conversation), “accidentally” walk in on him in the shower ( _"Oh my god, Zoe, absolutely_ _not."_ ). 

But it always goes back to the fact that Evan needs to just…tell him.

Which Evan absolutely will not do.

Not unless he is absolutely sure that Connor returns his feelings.

Which Connor obviously does.

The whole cyclical mess is enough to make Zoe pull a Connor and shove her fist through a wall.

She returns her current attention to a highly-strung Evan, who’s pacing back and forth in her bedroom like he’s actively trying to wear a hole in the floorboards.

“Yes. You do. You need to talk to him,” Evan’s saying resolutely.

“Uh huh. You wanna be a little more specific here, or…?”

Zoe reaches for a second donut, hand hovering over the chocolate glazed one that Evan’s saving for Connor. Evan shoots her a warning look, and Zoe retreats, snickering under her breath. 

“He wore his hair up today, Zo. Again. It’s like…the third time this week. How am I supposed to deal with that? I could see like. His whole _neck."_

“Ooooh, his whole _neck?_ ” Zoe teases, because she just can’t help herself, because Evan makes it far too easy. 

“I’m serious, Zoe! I was scared I was gonna just lose my mind and jump him in the middle of the science lab!” 

“Evan, Jesus _Christ_." Zoe can’t help but screw up her nose in revulsion, because that’s just…not a mental image she needs in her life. “Like, I support you and everything but you need to remember this is my _brother_ you’re talking to me about. I don’t need to hear that shit.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” Evan’s cheeks darken with the sudden awareness of who he’s talking to, and he flings his hands up to cover them. The pacing abruptly stops, and his eyes skitter to the ground in shame. 

Zoe rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and holds the donut box out in Evan’s direction; a peace offering. A ‘ _c_ _alm down dude, it’s fine, you’re not gross, we’re still friends'_ offering. She gives the box a tempting little shake, and Evan sighs and takes one as he flops down onto Zoe’s bed. 

He still avoids the chocolate glaze, even though Zoe happens to know it’s Evan’s favorite, too. 

“I’m just. Fuck.” Evan lets out another defeated sigh. “Zoe I’m sorry but I am just. So fucking gay for your brother.”

Zoe snorts derisively, shakes her head. 

“ _Really_ , Evan? I had _no idea,_ ” she says, but the mocking sarcasm is somehow warm and fuzzy, and Evan lets out a little huff of laughter.

A comfortable quiet falls over Zoe’s bedroom, only broken by the barely-there sound of Evan picking at his donut. 

“Hang on, though.” Zoe says, suddenly curious. “Not just like…gay, in general, or?”

“Oh,” Evan peeps, sounding mildly surprised by the question. “Oh, um…no? I don’t think so? I guess I’m like…I dunno. Bi, maybe? I think. I mean, I know I’m somewhere…in the middle, so…”

“Oh, right. That’s cool.”

It _is_ cool, actually. 

Zoe’s never really met anyone like herself before. She suddenly feels an even stronger sense of solidarity with this dumbass bundle of nerves, like she _gets_ him. It’s not a feeling Zoe experiences all that often. She has friends, sure, but...

She’s never truly known anyone who’d understand. 

“That’s not…you’re, um. You’re OK with that, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Zoe says promptly, with overacted scorn. “You disgust me, actually. I was fine with you liking boys. But girls _and_ boys? Who the _fuck_ do you think you _are_?”

Evan’s eyes dart fearfully to meet hers, but at the sight of her toothy grin he breaks into relieved, breathy laughter. 

“See, I um. I know you’re kidding but. I dunno, you’d be surprised what people say. About stuff like that.”

As quickly as Zoe’s teasing mirth has appeared, it’s gone.

An abrupt burst of anger, prickling and hot, suddenly forces her upright. It flutters restlessly in her chest like an unwelcome visitor; invasive, lingering. Heat rushes to her cheeks, and her skin buzzes with the sudden need to _protect._

“Wait... Are people at school giving you shit? Because if they are—”

Was Zoe going to threaten to beat them up?

Zoe’s not sure. 

She’s never hit anyone in her life. 

But at some point in the past few seconds, she realizes her fingers have curled into tight little fists.

“No!” Evan chokes out. There’s the tiniest ghost of stunned laughter in his voice, like he’s taken aback by Zoe’s sudden mother-hen reaction. “No, no, I just meant. I’ve not had anything directed at…at me, personally. You just…y’know, you read things. Online and stuff. A lot of people get really weird about…bisexuality, I guess? Which is kind of shitty. But um. Yeah. Nobody at school’s said anything…I mean, nobody at school _knows_ , so…”

A faint smile forms on Zoe's face with the knowledge that Evan has apparently deemed her safe, trustworthy enough to share this little fragment of himself with.

“You’re…not out?”

“You're the only person I've told,” Evan admits. He fiddles idly with the corner of the donut box, bending it this way and that until wrinkles form in the cardboard and tiny flecks of paper begin to peel away.

“Except Connor,” adds Zoe, standing up to brush sugar off her jeans.

Evan doesn't respond.

He's creasing the donut box with newfound intensity, and obstinately refuses to meet Zoe's gaze.

And…

No.

_No._

“…Except Connor,” Zoe says again, insistently because. No. There's no way Evan is _this hopeless._

There's another long, insistent silence. The corner of the donut box has almost completely disintegrated. 

“Evan. _Except Connor, Evan _.” Zoe says, even more forcefully, and Evan finally looks up and immediately shrinks under her gaze, like a child that's being scolded. He offers an awkward little shrug, and a petulant "Well…" under his breath.

“Evan. No. Are you actually, seriously telling me that Connor doesn't _know_?”

“It’s…" Evan hesitates for a moment, like he's trying to find the right words, then seems to abandon this pursuit. It all comes out in his trademark prattle, each sound clipped and precise but somehow all still stuck together like chewing gum. "It's just that it’s never _come up_ and I didn’t know how to _bring it up_ and now I feel like it’s too late into our friendship to mention anything without it being _super weird and obvious_ as to why I’m telling him. And-and I know you keep saying that he likes me but _you have no proof of that, Zoe_ , and I’m not going to risk ruining my friendship with Connor based on a _hunch, OK?_ ”

Zoe takes a deep, calming breath and runs a hand over her face.

“OK,” Zoe says, her tone suggesting that it absolutely _isn’t_ OK.

“OK, like. I understand. But Evan. How am I supposed to help you get together with Connor if _he doesn’t know you like boys, Evan?”_

Zoe's voice has escalated into such a shrill squawk, she almost doesn't hear the sound of the front door slamming downstairs.

However, judging by Evan's suddenly alarmed expression, he's heard it pretty clearly. He shushes Zoe aggressively, his eyes wild with panic, and she can practically see the frenzied thoughts whirling through Evan’s head at top speed. _Connor’s heard, Connor totally heard that, oh god oh god oh god._

The ascending sound of combat boots on floorboard kicks Zoe into gear, and she immediately starts talking jazz band at full volume, narrowing her eyes at Evan. He gets it, and quickly jumps into the conversation, adding little sounds of faux-interest at points in the sentence where they don’t quite fit properly. 

As is the usual routine, Connor's head pokes around Zoe's doorway, eyes locking onto Evan immediately, like a magnet pulled to its polarity.

"Heeeyyy," says Evan, in a sort of sing-song, drawing out the word like taffy. It sounds so artificially sweet that Zoe has to stifle a snort. God, Evan's terrible at hiding things from Connor. It's an absolute miracle Connor hasn't caught on to this whole Evan thing by now, it truly is.

Even more of a miracle that Connor looks unruffled, and doesn’t seem to have overheard anything.

"How was it today?" Evan asks, with forced cheer, cheeks still flushed in mortification. "Your mom bought donuts but Zoe stole them. Saved you one."

Evan holds out the box in Connor's direction, and Connor's eyes light up. 

"Oh my god, you’re the best," Connor says, reaching for it. "New meds have been fucking with my appetite this week, which is apparently normal. But I’m actually starving right now, so."

Connor takes a big mouthful of the donut, then makes a deliberate show of licking glaze from the corner of his mouth.

He makes direct eye contact with Evan the whole time.

"W-well. Y'know. Just looking out for you," says Evan, and the nonchalance is so stiff and wooden that Zoe has to physically walk to the other side of the room to stop herself from laughing.

"No seriously, that’s so nice," Connor says.

"No, it's just. You're my best friend, so…"

Zoe is going to scream. She's not sure yet if it's from laughter or frustration but Zoe is going to scream.

"You're kind of the greatest, you know," says Connor.

"I'm totally not," says Evan.

"You absolutely fucking are," says Connor

"Nope," says Zoe.

She wheels around, and strides out her bedroom so quickly she misses Evan and Connor's matching expressions of bewilderment, as well as the hint of panic in Evan’s eyes. 

"Nope. This is ridiculous. You're both so fucking ridiculous."

She calls the last part as loud as she can as she marches down the hall, so she's absolutely _sure_ they both hear it. 

As she takes the stairs two at a time, she just manages to catch a faint snippet of her brother's voice.

"...What's her problem?"

And her stupid, ridiculous, idiotic, completely besotted best friend responds:

"I'm...I have no idea, um, actually. No clue."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan is...kind of the other reason Zoe's here. 
> 
> Because today she's finally going to put her plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to more Useless Gays™ and more Frustrated Zoe™
> 
> Also another chapter that's mostly humor and no plot development happens. Sorry guys. I'm just having way too much fun tormenting Zoe.
> 
> No TW - Connor swears, Zoe swears, as usual
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!! <3 Much love!

* * *

Zoe wishes her banana-berry smoothie had more banana and less berry. 

First World problems, she knows. But the trainee at her favorite smoothie place at the local mall has gotten the ratio just... completely wrong. She can barely taste the banana at all, and it's way too chunky and full of seeds. It takes genuine effort to suck it through the straw. 

But Zoe's not really the type to complain. She drinks it anyway, aimlessly scanning the store shelves packed tight with video games. She catches sight of a familiar mop of long, untidy hair down the back. Connor just so happens to look up at Zoe at almost exactly the same time, then pulls the ugliest face he can muster, tucking his chin in and jutting his bottom jaw out and scrunching his nose and mouth at her. Smoothie almost comes out of Zoe's nose, and she's quick to pull a stupid face back. 

It’s unfamiliar and strange, this new almost-truce that has formed between them, in the weeks since that day Connor had returned home from therapy and cried on Zoe's bed, and let Zoe squeeze his arm, and smiled at Zoe in the doorway. It feels like they’re on unsteady ground, on shifting tectonic plates, rumbling and swaying. Teetering and wobbly. 

But still standing. For now.

  


Last week, Connor had begrudgingly helped Cynthia serve dinner, and he'd made sure to give Zoe the smallest serving of Cynthia's weird dairy-free potato salad because he knows how much Zoe hates it. 

The day after, Zoe found a bunch of stuff in a neat little pile on her nightstand, things that had been missing for months, things Zoe thought she'd never see again. A bottle of black nail polish and a couple of books and a packet of incense sticks. All returned, with a yellow post-it note featuring the words _here bitch,_ alongside a big, lopsided smiley face.

The day before yesterday, Connor had walked past Zoe's room and found her crying into her algebra homework, near hysterics, because she _just didn't get it._ The numbers, the formulae, it all blurred into nothingness beneath a thick film of tears and confusion and the heavy weight of failure, and like a child, Zoe had cried and cried and cried. She was going to fail this class, she was going to _fail_ , and then her B average would be _ruined_ , and…

Connor had walked back out of Zoe's room without a word, disappeared into his own bedroom, and returned a few minutes later with a dog-eared sheet of loose leaf paper, which he’d slammed down on Zoe’s desk in front of her. It was covered in Connor’s grubby handwriting - numbers and squiggles and extra little hints and step-by-step guides scrawled in the margins. Dated March of 2016 - Connor’s own Junior year.

_My old notes,_ Connor had muttered, barely looking in her direction. _Just give it back when you’re done with it. And don’t like...let Mr Ritter get you down. You’re not dumb, he’s a shitty teacher._

  


And today, Saturday, Connor had appeared in Zoe’s doorway again. Already dressed, in faded jeans and tattered Converse, shifting awkwardly like he was about to change his mind and bolt. _I’m...going to GameStop. The one at the mall. Jared keeps talking about this game and I’ve decided I want it. You wanna go?_

  


And it’s been...god, probably _years_ since Zoe had been out anywhere with Connor. 

  


And when she tries to remember if he’s ever actually _invited_ her somewhere like this, just the two of them, absolutely nothing comes to mind.

It’s a first.

  


So Zoe had agreed. Because…

  


She’s not sure when, exactly, but somewhere down the line this has become important to her. 

Fixing things with her brother.

  


He’s just...clearly been trying _so_ hard. Not just with his awkward little attempts at reconciliation with Zoe, but with everyone. Everything. He thinks before he speaks around Evan, and keeps his cool despite Larry’s constant jabs, and the other night he thanked Cynthia for dinner and she’d all but teared up.

And sometimes, when Zoe looks at Connor, she sees matted fur and a torn up leg and a lonely, endless stretch of trees. 

She sees blood and teeth and fear.

  


And she doesn’t want to be the cause of it anymore.

  


Zoe looks back in Connor's direction, but he's suddenly...nowhere to be seen.

  


Brow creased in confusion, Zoe rises onto her tiptoes, peering over the sea of heads in search of familiar messy hair and sharp angles. 

  


Pointy angles, to use Evan's terminology.

  


Unbeknownst to Pointy-Angled Connor, Evan is...kind of the other reason Zoe's here. 

  


Because today she's finally going to put her plan into action.

  


She's still a little hesitant about the whole thing, if she's honest with herself. In fact, at first she'd flat-out refused. Just...no _way._ It seemed so so wrong, to Zoe. Because it's like...rule number one of the LGBTQ+ code. You _don't_ out someone. Not ever ever _ever._ _Never._

But Evan had looked so hopeful, so _excited_ , as he'd pleaded and wheedled and whined, going _it's not_ _outing_ _me if I'm asking you to do it, Zoe,_ and _I'm never going to have the courage to tell him myself, Zoe, I_ _need_ _you,_ and _Zoe pleeeeeeease?_

She'd stuck to her instincts at first. She'd tried to be firm, but fair. _Coming out is such a personal experience, Evan,_ she'd told him, mom-voice in full swing. _This is something you really need to do on your own. It needs to be your own journey, not mine._

The thing Zoe hadn't counted on was how goddamn _stubborn_ Evan Hansen is.

The more she gets to know him, the more she realizes Evan and Connor are, surprisingly enough, two headstrong, asshole peas in a pod.

Evan hadn't given up, he'd simply changed tack.

_OK so maybe don't like...straight out tell Connor I'm bi. Like. That's fair if you're not comfortable doing that. But. You could like, drop some hints, right? Just some little hints to make him question whether or not I'm straight?  
_

Zoe had obviously immediately questioned how the hell Evan expected her to do that, what the hell kind of things she was meant to just casually drop into conversation to suggest that Evan likes boys. Evan's uninspired suggestion has been to "mention like...my ex-boyfriend, or something", which had made Zoe laugh and point out that Evan didn't _have_ an ex-boyfriend, and that getting caught up in a giant web of lies was probably not the way to go about, well, anything, and that Connor probably wouldn't believe such an obvious untruth anyway.

_Well, make something else up, then. Whatever works, I dunno. Didn't you ace improv in Drama class last semester? You could come up with something, right?_

Come up with something. Right.

Today is the perfect opportunity, really. It's not often she gets an extended period of time alone with just her brother. If she's going to help Evan out with this, she kind of has to do it today.

  


Except she has no idea what she's going to say.

  


And she has no idea where her pointy-ass brother has disappeared to.

  


Wonderful.

  


She squints once more towards the rear end of the store where she'd last seen Connor, and takes a hesitant step forwards. It's not that big a store; there's not exactly that many places he could have gone…

  


A hand suddenly shoots out of nowhere and latches tight onto Zoe's arm, a voice right in her ear going “ _RAH!”_ , and Zoe shrieks into her smoothie straw as she whirls around to face her attacker.

"Asshole," she mutters, disgruntled, as Connor cackles at her. She slaps a hand over her chest to calm her racing heart.

Connor holds up a plastic game case with a look of triumph. 

"Found it," he says. He starts weaving his way towards the cashier, and Zoe tags along behind him. "Jared'll be stoked. He's been going on about it forever. Online multiplayer. He's had nobody to play it with."

Zoe sees the opportunity, and takes it.

"What about Evan?"

  


Zoe's not sure if she's imagining it, but she'd swear Connor's cheeks turn a little pink at the mere mention of Evan's name.

  


"Nah, he's not so into first person shooters. He's got the _worst_ aim. I dunno. Maybe one day we can talk him into joining us. The game's cross-platform compatible, so."

And something about that phrasing sparks an idea in Zoe’s head, a lightbulb moment. 

  


And the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

  


“So is Evan.”

  


Connor stares at her blankly.

  


“...What?”

  


“Evan. Evan’s...cross-platform compatible, y’know?”

  


Connor clearly _doesn’t_ know. His brows have knitted together in confusion, and he’s looking at Zoe like she’s speaking another language.

  


Goddamn it.

The cashier saves Zoe from any further explanation, making vague small talk with Connor as he rings up the purchase, looking over the case and nodding his approval at Connor’s choice.

“It’s great they changed the rating on this one,” he’s saying, as Connor digs in his pocket for his wallet. “It was originally gonna be rated higher, when it was still in development. But I think they made the right call; now it can be enjoyed by anyone.”

  


“Like Evan,” Zoe blurts out. Like an idiot. 

Connor tilts his head in her direction, looking almost worried about her sanity. The cashier looks kind of concerned, too.

  


“...Zoe, are you OK?”

  


This is...clearly not working.

  


She needs to try a different approach.

  


They head out of GameStop, Connor still reading the back of the game’s plastic case, Zoe with her eyes down, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Connor walks through the mall without purpose, scuffing the heels of his sneakers against the ground every now and then.

  


“So,” he says finally. “Why are you talking about Evan so much? Do you, like…”

  


There’s an uncomfortable sense of trepidation in his voice, suddenly. 

  


Zoe doesn’t like where this is going.

  


“Do you, like, _like_ him, or something?” 

  


Connor’s obviously aiming for nonchalant, but it comes out wobbly and defensive instead.

  


Shit.

_Shitshitshitshit._

  


“Oh god, _no,”_ says Zoe, then immediately regrets it because, _shit._ She’s meant to be making Evan sound like an appealing option, not like she’s disgusted by him, like he’s gross, like you’d have to be _ashamed_ to have a crush on Evan. _Shit._

  


“I mean--” Zoe says, rushing to recover, “He’d be a great boyfriend, I think. He’s great. He’s awesome. But. Not my type. He’s too close to a brother to me, you know?”

  


Connor’s shoulders relax.

  


He nods, then blows out a short gust of air through pursed lips, so it whistles slightly.

  


“Yeah, no. I get that. Yeah.”

  


He looks like he’s fighting to hide a smile. 

  


“You’d probably feel the same, I guess,” Zoe says, testing the waters. She wriggles her straw around in her smoothie cup, but there’s no smoothie left, and it makes a scratchy kind of sound as it scrapes the empty bottom.

  


Connor shrugs casually, but his slight blush gives him away, and he quickly diverts his gaze.

  


“Makes no difference anyway,” he mumbles. He looks up suddenly, eyes frantically skimming over their surroundings for a distraction. “Hey, food court. I want curly fries.”

  


And. OK. OK. 

  


This was...something. Zoe can work with this.

  


She lets Connor shove everything down, for the moment. It’s obvious he feels weird talking about it. She feigns indifference as he orders an extra large serve of curly fries, finds them a table, and plops the fries down between the two of them, nudging them in Zoe’s direction as an unspoken invitation for her to help herself.

She does.

  


“Anywhere else you wanna stop?” Connor asks, mouth full. “I’ve got what I came for, but I don’t mind staying if you wanna look around a bit.”

Zoe shrugs, picking at the fries. “Kinda had my eye on a pair of Dr Martens. Purple ones. I’ve been saving my allowance. If you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Connor says. Then, “These are good.”

Zoe picks up a single fry, examining it.

“You think there’s something about the geometry of the curl that makes curly fries inherently better than regular fries?”

Connor scoffs in disbelief. “Rude that you’re ignoring the merits of home fries, but OK.”

“I’m just saying,” Zoe insists, and Connor laughs. 

“Yeah, curly fries are better than like...straight fries, for sure.”

“Straight is overrated,” Zoe agrees.

Then grins.

“You know who else would agree that straight is overrated?,” she asks, slowly, giving Connor a pointed look. “Evan.”

  


Connor frowns.

  


“...You guys talk about fries a lot, or…?”

  


Zoe is nearing her breaking point. 

Jesus. Christ. Is she really bad at this, or is Connor just _stupid?_

  


“Evan is...an equal opportunities employer,” Zoe says emphatically. 

  


Connor looks bewildered. 

  


“Evan...is a high-school senior, Zoe,” he says slowly, like he’s speaking to a child.

  


Zoe takes in a harsh breath, then lets it out through her nose.

  


“Evan is what you might call...a double barrelled shotgun.” 

  


Connor says nothing. His lip curls in confusion.

  


“Or like...a hybrid car. You know. _Multiple ways of fueling it._ ”

  


Connor is silent. 

  


“Evan is…” Zoe’s really struggling now. “He’s...ACDC. Direct current but also...alternative current?”

  


Connor opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

And for a moment, Zoe thinks he’s gotten it. He gets it.

  


But then he opens his mouth again and says.

  


“...Zoe, what the actual fuck are you talking about?”

  


Zoe buries her face in her hands and lets out a shriek of frustration. 

  


“Connor, _fuck._ I thought Collies are meant to be _smart._ For fucks _sake.”_

  


Connor looks even more baffled now.

“Wait, Collies? Zoe, _what?_ ”

  


Zoe stands abruptly, shoving the curly fries aside.

  


“I’m done. I can’t. I can’t do it. I did my best. But you’re a dumbass. Evan’s gonna have to deal with it. Come on. I want my purple Docs.”

  


And with that, she strides away, leaving Connor scrambling to catch up with her, stammering, sounding _way_ too much like Evan, “Zoe, what? What does that mean? What does that _mean,_ Zoe? Evan’s gonna have to deal with _what?_ ”

“Useless,” Zoe grumbles. “You’re both completely _useless._ ”

Zoe Murphy leaves the mall with a shiny new pair of purple Dr Martens, a still-baffled older brother, and complete loss of faith in the intelligence of boys. All boys. Every single boy.

  


Thank god she, too, is cross-platform compatible. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to plants, Evan is fantastic. He really does know what he’s doing.
> 
> When it comes to Connors, on the other hand…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, guys! Things are finally...sort of starting? Kind of? A lil bit?
> 
> I never thought I'd be the type of person to write a slow burn but. Yeah. Then this story started happening. 
> 
> Kind of a short chapter but it felt right leaving it where it ends. More Zoe & Evan being besties in this chapter. Benson the succulent. Some mild angst. No TW that I can think of?
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! Thank you so so soooo much for your gorgeous comments <3

* * *

Benson the succulent has never looked healthier.

He’s been living on Zoe’s windowsill for the past nine and a half weeks, and the change really has made a difference. His buds are a rich, glowing green, fat and glossy with new life, and he’s grown a good inch taller, too. Zoe waters him less often now, and sometimes she sprinkles in some of the soil nutrient stuff Evan’s given her, and it actually feels kind of awesome to be a good plant-mom for a change. Sometimes, as she looks Benson over, she hears Evan’s voice in her head, saying _you chose him, Zoe, he didn’t choose you. It’s your responsibility to make sure he’s living his best life._

When it comes to plants, Evan is fantastic. He really does know what he’s doing.

When it comes to Connors, on the other hand…

It’s almost starting to get ridiculous now, to be honest. It’s been over two months since Zoe’s started hanging out with Evan, and god knows how much longer since he started pining over Connor in the first place.

And he’s no closer to…well, anything. He’s still exactly where he started, too terrified to even stick a toe over the starting line.

He still hasn’t told Connor he’s bi. Zoe had hoped that her own failed attempts would encourage him to take matters into his own hands, to own it. To be so frustrated with Zoe that he’d want to just rip the metaphorical band-aid off, march right up to Connor and announce “I like boys, one boy specifically, and you are that one boy,” and then they’d kiss, or something.

But if anything, the whole disaster had made Evan retreat further into himself, to become completely convinced that the whole thing was a clear indicator that Connor’s not interested in him.

_Clearly if he didn’t get any of the hints you were dropping, he doesn’t… like me like that, Zoe. He doesn’t see me as like…a sexual being, or whatever. He didn’t understand the hints that I’m bi because he doesn’t care whether or not I’m bi._

Sometimes Evan’s logic makes Zoe’s head hurt.

Her heart sometimes, too.

Because while some days the whole situation seems kind of funny, and some days it’s frustrating as all hell, some days it just...sucks. Some days Evan seems so _defeated_. So dejected and sad and completely and utterly convinced that Connor will never ever like him back.

Zoe hates those days.

Zoe hates _today._

She casts her eyes in Evan’s direction, where he’s slumped face-down on her bed, sprawled out like a corpse bobbing in open ocean. He’s reaching out with one hand towards her guitar where it’s propped up against her nightstand, absently running his index finger back and forth along the strings, creating a mournful, quiet twang.

He hasn’t said anything in a long time.

“Hey,” Zoe says gently, “show me your C chord. The one I taught you last week, remember?”

Evan pushes himself upright without complaint, but his face is expressionless, unreadable. He picks up Zoe’s guitar and settles it in his lap, fumbling to get his fingers in the right spots, and Zoe automatically says, “no, first finger,” when she realizes he’s got them muddled up. Eventually, he manages a single strum of the chord, and despite the time it’s taken him to get there, it sounds unexpectedly clear and bright.

Zoe smiles at him in a way she hopes is supportive.

“You’re getting there,” she tells him encouragingly, but Evan just shakes his head.

He sets the guitar back on the ground.

“I’m not,” he mumbles, sounding bleary and tired and not altogether there. “I’m not.”

He’s clearly not talking about his musical abilities.

Zoe braces herself.

“I don’t know what to do,” Evan says despairingly, words muffled as he folds himself in half at the waist and buries his face against his knees. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep _doing_ this, Zo.”

Zoe says nothing, but reaches out and gives his shoulder a little squeeze. She knows Evan finds touch comforting when he’s like this. It works better if it’s coming from Connor, but she hopes it’s enough.

“It just gets harder every time I see him. Just. The eyes and the hair and the smile and the laugh and the _everything,_ Zoe. And. And I know you get weirded out hearing all this shit and I’m sorry but. I just. Fuck. I. Fuck.”

“Do you, now?” Zoe teases, in a pathetic attempt to dissipate the thick fog of misery.

It kind of works, oddly enough. Evan lets out the tiniest breath of laughter as he sits up again, and he rolls his eyes at her a little, so she pushes on.

“Bet Connor would be interested to know that,” she says, and Evan lets out another quiet little laugh.

Then his face abruptly drops.

Shit. Not the reaction Zoe had been hoping for.

“He wouldn’t care,” Evan mutters, twisting the hem of his shirt; the tornado routine.

Zoe hasn’t seen him do that in weeks.

Shit.

“He wouldn’t care. He’s not _interested_ in me, Zoe. That’s what makes this so fucking _hard._ Don’t you think if he wanted…more from me, more than friends, he would’ve _said_ something by now?”

“ _You_ haven’t,” Zoe points out. “Besides, he doesn’t even know that you’re—”

“Exactly!” Evan cries, throwing up his hands in frustration. “He doesn’t even _know my orientation._ Don’t you think he would’ve figured it out by now, or like, _asked,_ if he was actually interested?”

“Not this again,” Zoe groans, because _fuck._ They’ve gone round and round on this topic more times than she can count. She’s _over_ it.

“I mean, he either sees our relationship as totally, 100% platonic, or he’s really, really dumb, Zoe.”

Zoe can’t help the little burst of derisive laughter that escapes.

“He’s really, really dumb, Evan,” she says dryly.

“He _isn’t_ , though. Connor’s one of the smartest people I know. Like crazy smart. Did you know he’s already reading college-level books in AP English? And he’s been doing that for like, a solid year and a half now? Miss Marland says she’s ‘running out of ways to keep him engaged’. It’s insane.”

“I know,” says Zoe, because she does. She’s heard all of this like, a thousand times.

She can’t help but smile a little, though. At least fawning over Connor’s intelligence has momentarily distracted Evan from the gloom hanging over him.

“And did I tell you she’s been encouraging Connor to try and get some of his writing published? She thinks he’s really got potential. And he does. He really does. We did free verse poetry a while ago and he showed me what he wrote and I fucking _cried_ , Zoe. It was _embarrassing.”_

“I know,” says Zoe again.

“And not to mention his art, Jesus _Christ._ His sketchbook should be on display in a museum, or something. Seriously. Even the pages he says are just rough sketches are just _incredible._ And I know I’m not the best judge, I can barely draw a straight line but. Wow.”

“I know,” says Zoe again.

“He just…I know teachers and parents always say to their kids, ‘oh, you can be anything you want to be when you grow up, you can do anything, you can take on the world’ but nobody really believes that, Zoe. It’s not true. But Connor really _could_. Connor could literally do anything in the world and he’d be _amazing_ at it. He has so many options, fuck. Like, trust me to go and fall in love with someone who literally has endless options. I don’t have a fucking chance, Zo.”

Zoe is silent.

She’s only half-aware that her jaw has dropped, like in cartoons, but she can’t bring herself to close her mouth.

Because…

Because it’s the first time Evan’s said…

Zoe’s never really classified herself as much of a romantic, but she suddenly has the urge to shriek in girlish glee. Because _love_ is...much bigger than _like_ _like._ This is...big. A big deal.

Evan, oblivious as always, is still talking.

“Like, he could do whatever he wanted, be with whoever he wanted. He seriously could. I’m just—”

_“Evan.”_

Evan finally falls silent, and looks over at Zoe in confusion.

Zoe can’t wipe the grin from her face. She knows she must look positively insane, staring at Evan in wide-eyed, open-mouthed excitement, but she can’t help it because…

_“Trust me to go and fall…”_ she prompts, giving him a meaningful look, and he quirks an eyebrow at her in question.

_“Trust me to go and fall…”_ she repeats, emphatically, and she watches as the cogs turn in Evan’s head as he mentally rewinds, replays his own sentence in his mind.

She sees the precise moment where he realizes what he’s said.

_“…in love,”_ he breathes, whisper-quiet, like a prayer.

There’s a long stretch of silence as Evan sits and just…processes.

“Oh,” he says faintly, sounding vague and kind of far away. His eyes are unfocused, his gaze directed towards Benson in Zoe’s windowsill, but not really seeing him.

“Oh,” he says, and the fingers that have twisted the chunk of t-shirt have frozen in place, the tornado of fabric still, a storm trapped in time. He looks strangely calm, completely at ease with his own words, like they’ve always been true, like they’ve been sitting on the back of his tongue, waiting to spill forward for his entire life.

The weight of those words seems to hit Evan like a sudden bolt of lightning.

“Oh. Oh _fuck._ Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m. Zoe. Zoe I’m in _love_ with him.”

“I could’ve told you that,” says Zoe, and her cheeks are aching from how much she’s grinning.

“Fuck. Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. OK. Oh my god. Fuck.”

“Fuck,” agrees Zoe, and then she’s pulling her idiot best friend into a tight hug, because she just…has to. Evan kind of sits there limply for a moment while Zoe squeezes the everloving fuck out of him, before tentatively hugging back, and Zoe playfully sort of rocks them both from side to side as she squeals into Evan’s ear, and Evan finally relaxes, letting out a bark of laughter at Zoe’s wild enthusiasm.

“OK,” Zoe says, the second she releases him. “OK. Now you _have_ to tell him, you know that, right?”

And Zoe’s fully expecting for Evan to fight her on this.

She’s expecting the ream of excuses, the stammering and the t-shirt twisting and the _but Zoe I can’t._

But Evan sucks in a deep, steadying breath.

Grips his knees with both hands, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“OK,” he says. “Fuck. OK.”

And the shriek that Zoe’s been holding back for nine and half weeks finally erupts out of her, but it’s not in frustration now. She launches to her feet, and hops excitedly from foot to foot like a little girl, and she feels so fucking stupid but she can’t help herself because _fucking finally._

Evan laughs incredulously at her, but her excitement must be contagious, because his own feet are suddenly brushing the ground with restless energy, a bashful grin settling into his face, nervous but…steady. Like a decision has been made.

“I need your help, though,” Evan says, and Zoe snorts.

“What else is new?”

“I’m serious. I don’t know what I’m doing, Zo.”

“Again, this is news?”

Evan laughs again, and his eyes are bright, and Zoe thinks about Benson, with his buds all crisp and fresh and new and growing.

She thinks about Evan’s C chord on her guitar, how he’d struggled with the strings, but then managed to get it exactly right.

And she hopes and hopes and hopes they’re good signs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Connor, I need to tell you that I—”
> 
> “Eye contact,” Zoe reprimands, and Evan groans in frustration.
> 
> “It’s weird!” he whines. “It’s so awkward looking at you and saying I love you. It’s…it feels gross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I um. Don't want to say too much here. 
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read, and for your lovely lovely comments. You are all wonderful humans and I adore you <3
> 
> Also, I have a Ko-fi account now! I don't know how it works! At all! But I guess if you wanna fund my caffeine addiction now you can! :)
> 
> TW: swearing, a couple of vague dirty jokes. Tsk tsk, Zoe Murphy.

* * *

When Zoe was in third grade, her teacher, Mrs Bower, had been all about collaborative learning. She was a huge advocate of peer review in particular, and once tried to pair students up to give constructive criticism on each other's work. "Two stars and a wish", she called it; two things a classmate had done well, and one thing to work on for next time.

The first and only lesson Mrs Bower had attempted this strategy, Zoe had been partnered with a little girl called Josephine, who had a face full of freckles and shoes that lit up.

Mrs Bower had abandoned "two stars and a wish" not long after Josephine had burst into tears.

Apparently, two good things about a classmate’s story could _not_ be _"I liked that you remembered to put your name on your work"_ and _"I liked when it ended."_ And a wish _certainly_ couldn't be _"I wish it was better”, Zoe, my goodness, I think you owe Josephine an apology._

Zoe knows that, even now, she's...kind of a harsh critic. 

But she's working on it. She's gotten better at it since third grade, that's for sure. She still feels the uncomfortable squirminess of guilt in her stomach when she thinks about Josephine's little tear-streaked face.

(The story really had been atrocious, though).

"So, um. How was that?"

Evan's tearing skin off his bottom lip with his two front teeth, looking at Zoe apprehensively. He grimaces a little, like he’s bracing himself for the worst.

_Positive. Honest, but positive. With a specific, measurable goal,_ Zoe reminds herself.

“OK, that…that wasn’t bad. Try it again. Less ‘um’ this time.”

“OK. Um,” says Evan immediately, reflexively. Then, “shit, goddammit,” along with a weak chuckle. He shifts uneasily, rubbing at the back of his neck before looking up at her apologetically.

Zoe gives him the most supportive, encouraging, megawatt smile she can manage.

“You’re fine. C’mon. Again.”

Evan takes a deep breath.

“OK,” he says. “OK.”

He lets the breath out.

“Connor, I need to tell you that I—”

“Eye contact,” Zoe reprimands, and Evan groans in frustration.

“It’s weird!” he whines. “It’s so awkward looking at _you_ and saying I love you. It’s…it feels _gross.”_

“Wow, thanks,” Zoe deadpans, and Evan goes pale, eyes wide with alarm.

“No, I just meant—like, you’re my best _friend._ And you’re Connor’s _sister_. I just—”

“No, I get it. I’m _gross_. Disgusting and revolting and repulsive. I should spend the rest of my days in a cave in the wilderness, away from human eyeballs, just in case I offend them with my sheer existence.”

“ _No—”_ Evan insists frantically, looking even more distressed, and Zoe snickers.

“Look,” she interrupts, wisely choosing to quit messing with Evan before he gets too riled up, “It’s gonna be _even harder_ keeping eye contact with Connor, and you know it. You need to practice looking at people when you speak to them, Evan. Come on. You’re not leaving this room until I can be absolutely, 100% confident you’re not gonna fuck this up.”

“I’m _gonna_ fuck this up, Zo,” Evan mutters irritably, running restless fingers through his hair. “ _I’m totally gonna fuck this up_.” 

Zoe ignores him.

“Start over,” she demands, folding her arms over her chest and leaving absolutely no room for argument.

Evan audibly gulps, then clears his throat. His fingers twitch against the pockets of his jeans in an agitated sort of way. He squinches his eyes shut, a nervous tic, then remembers he’s meant to be making eye contact and wrenches them open. 

He takes another deep deep deep breath.

“OK. Connor. I’m…I think I—”

“You don’t _think,_ you _know,_ ” interjects Zoe again. “Don’t leave him any room to second guess what you’re saying. You _know_ what Connor can be like.”

“Right, you’re right. Fuck. Fuck. OK.”

Evan clenches and unclenches his fists. He's red-faced and starting to sweat. 

He tries again.

“Connor. I just, like. Needed to…to tell you that. And I mean it’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, but I wanted to—”

“ _No,”_ Zoe admonishes, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “Don’t say _that,_ that’s bullshit and you know it, of _course_ it’s not ‘fine’ if he doesn’t feel the same way—”

“ _Shit,”_ Evan groans. “Shit, OK. Fuck, I’m so _bad_ at this, Zoe—”

He sounds worryingly close to a complete mental breakdown.

“One more time,” she urges, and she’s _determined_ to just let the poor boy speak this time.

“OK,” says Evan. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans, and adjusts his posture, forcing himself to stand up straight, aloft with purpose. He swallows, then lifts his chin challengingly, like he's trying to convince himself that he's confident. He takes yet another deep deep deep breath, looks Zoe dead in the eye, opens his mouth, and--

“Um,” says Evan.

Zoe buries her face in her hands. A long, bemoaning whine escapes her, not unlike air being let out of a balloon. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Evan explodes. “Fuckfuckfuck _fuck_ , Zoe I _can’t,_ I can’t get this _right—”_

It’s Zoe’s turn to take a deep deep deep breath.

“OK,” says Zoe placatingly. “You’ll get it, OK? Just--”

“Zoe, I just. I _can’t_ \--”

“OK,” says Zoe again, a little more firmly this time, because she’s not about to let Evan nope out on this. Not now, not after all their hard work. “Maybe let's backtrack a little. Let’s--I’m me, OK? I’m not Connor, I’ll just be me. Tell _me._ Why are you in love with my brother?”

Evan gives a dejected shrug of his shoulders and mutters a very teenage-boy “I dunno… _”_ under his breath, and Zoe rolls her eyes. 

“Come on, last week I couldn’t shut you up about Connor. What, you’re gonna go all silent on me _now?”_

Evan pulls his shoulders up to his ears, crosses his arms. “I _dunno,_ ” he mumbles again, sounding defensive and petulant and Zoe knows she’s making him uncomfortable but there’s no way she’s giving up now.

“So, what, there’s no reason? You’ve just decided? Jeez, Evan, do you actually love him at _all_ , or--?”

“Fucking _yes, obviously,”_ Evan snaps, his voice suddenly so fierce that it makes Zoe startle a little, and apparently _that’s_ what it takes to get Evan talking, because it all suddenly spirals out in one long sentence, determined and unfaltering and raw.

“He’s my _person,_ Zoe. He’s my _person._ He’s the one thing, _the one thing_ that--Zoe, everything _sucks_ without him. I’m an only child and my dad hasn’t been around since I was seven and I’m so _used_ to being alone but I actually get _lonely_ now. I never used to know what that felt like. But now I am, I’m _lonely._ Every second that Connor’s not with me. When he’s not around I check my phone like. Constantly. It’s pathetic. And if I have a notification from him it’s the best feeling ever. He’ll send me a fucking _meme_ and it still feels like flying just knowing that he thought about me, even for just a moment. And when he _is_ around all I wanna do is stare at him. I _dream_ about him, Zoe. Like. Way too often. I feel like a drug addict. I dream about his eyes and his hair and his long-ass legs and just how fucking _gorgeous_ he is but none of that even _matters,_ really, because I don’t even _care_ about any of that stuff. Because even without the eyes and the hair and the legs and whatever, he’s still Connor, he’s still dumb jokes and free verse poems and books and pencil sketches and everything good in the world. It’s like everything else that used to be important to me is, is _secondary_ now. Secondary to Connor. And secondary to Connor being happy and safe and OK and...and he’s...he’s all I want. He’s _all_ I want. He’s...he’s my _person._ He’s _my person.”_

By the time Evan has finished his impassioned rant he’s trembling, and he chokes back a lungful of air like he’s just run a marathon. 

His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are wide and he has not said ‘um’ the entire time. Not once.

_“Evan,”_ Zoe breathes. “Evan. That was _perfect.”_

Evan is clearly taken aback by this. 

His vehement expression and taut posture drop, both at once, like cutting the strings of a puppet, and he suddenly looks like Evan Hansen again - unsure and awkward and soft.

“I...oh...really?”

“Yes, _”_ Zoe says adamantly, and she swings out her leg to give him a friendly kick. _“_ Yes, oh my _god_ , Evan! Tell him _that._ Tell him _exactly that,_ OK?”

“I, um...OK. Are you sure?”

“One hundred billion trillion percent sure,” Zoe insists, grinning widely, and Evan grins back.

He lets out a relieved sigh, the weight of which blows him over, and he flops down heavily onto Zoe’s bed beside her. The force of his landing makes Zoe bounce a little, like a kid on a trampoline, and for some reason it makes her giggle, and then Evan laughs, too.

A look of momentary concern flashes across Evan’s face, his laughter dying abruptly in his throat, and he turns to Zoe with an almost comical look of panic.

“Fuck...I hope I can remember all of that,” says Evan, and that just makes Zoe laugh even harder, squawking, “ _useless, Evan, you’re_ _useless”_ through her hysterics, and soon Evan’s face has relaxed and he’s laughing again.

She playfully bumps her shoulder against his, still giggling.

“Maybe we ought to have a back up plan. In case you forget,” she says. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

It takes Zoe several attempts to actually answer, because she’s still laughing, and Evan’s laughing at _her_ laughing, and now she’s preemptively laughing at her own joke, too. 

“I dunno, maybe like. Roses are red, violets are blue, I only jerk off to pictures of you?”

And Evan completely loses it, and he's red-faced and wheezing, choking back loud, raucous breaths like a demented seal.

“Or,” Zoe continues, practically incoherent at this point, “since I know you’re more into Connor’s free verse rather than rhyming poetry, maybe like. Roses are red, violets are blue, your face is pointy, sit on my dick,” and Evan’s laughing so hard he’s gone totally silent, flailing wildly on Zoe’s bed as he gasps for breath.

_“Zoe,_ oh my god, _stop--”_ he heaves, and there are actual tears in his eyes, “Stop, I’m _dying.”_

Zoe stops, and it takes them several minutes to compose themselves, and even then every time they make eye contact a giggle wobbles it’s way out of the corner of Evan’s mouth and he almost loses his shit all over again.

He wipes his eyes and grins at her. 

“You’re so _gross._ God, could you _imagine_ though? That’s so...like, if I actually _was_ like ‘hey Connor, guess what, I’m in love with you, sit on my dick’, oh my god Zoe, that’s just _awful_.”

Zoe opens her mouth to respond, her stomach still aching, when she hears an odd, shuffling sort of sound from out in the hall.

She pauses, and she feels the happy dimples in her cheeks shrink back, and the ache of laughter in her belly swoops away, and something sickly and sinister takes its place. 

Uneasiness falls over her like a weighted blanket, even through her brain is still struggling to catch up.

A sound, out in the hall.

A shuffling sound.

Combat boot on floorboard.

They’d been so caught up in their giggle fit, they’d both failed to notice the sound of the front door opening.

Zoe shoots Evan an alarmed look, and he’s still snickering, clearly waiting for Zoe to respond with what he believes is going to be a very well thought out follow-up joke. 

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes die away at the look on Zoe’s face. 

She points wildly, silently, out to the hall, lips mashed together in a thin, hard line.

The combat boots shuffle again.

There’s a wet little sniffle.

Zoe’s brain rewinds in a frenzy, trying to figure out what the fuck Connor could have possibly overheard.

Evan’s gone pale.

_You’re so gross. But god, could you imagine though? That’s so...like if I actually was like ‘hey Connor, guess what, I’m in love with you, sit on my dick’, oh my god Zoe, that’s just awful._

  


Oh.

  


Oh shit.

  


_But god, could you imagine though? That’s so...like if I actually was like ‘hey Connor, guess what, I’m in love with you…’_

  


Zoe’s never really thought of herself as being a fight, flight or freeze type of person. She’s never really known what her automatic response to stress is. She’s never even considered it.

  


But she knows now, because she’s all freeze, still with panic, and Evan is too, and they sit, gawping at each other with ice in their veins. 

  


_Oh my god Zoe, that’s just awful._

  


_Could you imagine though?_

  


_If I actually was like ‘hey Connor, guess what, I’m in love with you…’_

  


_So gross._

  


_Awful._

  
  


At top speed, the combat boots pelt down the stairs and hurtle clumsily towards the front door.

The door slams shut.

The house is silent. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a beautiful afternoon, unseasonably warm for November, and quiet, and the setting sun spills rivulets of golden light through the trees. Fall leaves crunch under Zoe’s feet as she steps hesitantly through the wooded glade, feeling sick as she realizes how fucking huge this damn park is. 
> 
> Connor could be anywhere.
> 
> If he’s even here at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for all the tears I caused in the last chapter but things are um. Not really getting better quiiite yet. You have been warned. 
> 
> TW: Big Swears. Lots of them. Anxious AF Evan. Very angry Connor. Not really self-harm/self-injury but kind of? Proceed with caution xox

* * *

Zoe’s not sure how long they both sit there in the piercing silence of the Murphy house. 

It can’t be more than a minute or so, but it feels like years, decades. Her nerves are shot, and there’s a jumpy, flickering sort of sensation in her chest, like she’s got five hearts that are all beating too fast and out of sync with each other.

She wonders how often Evan feels this way.

It’s Evan who breaks the silence first.

“...What...wh-what just...Zoe, what just happened?”

Zoe can’t find a reply.

“Was...that was Connor, Zoe. Connor heard…”

Evan sounds dazed, almost woozy as he tries to process what the actual  _ fuck  _ just happened, and Zoe’s still kind of processing too, because it all just happened so fast, and the sudden mood shift makes her feel off-kilter, like she’s sliding off her axis and tumbling away.

The gravity of the situation seems to hit Evan all at once.

“He...he would have heard... _ fuck  _ Zoe oh my god he thinks, he’s going to think that we were saying, that I, that you,  _ fuck  _ Zoe  _ fuck _ oh god oh god oh god...”

  
  


And normally, Zoe would take control of a situation like this. Normally, she’s the one to ground Evan, to yank him back to reality. She’s a firm tone and a shoulder squeeze and an  _ Evan, stop. _

  
  


But this time she just. Sits there.

  
  


She feels kind of unwell. Her stomach swirls and her head is pounding.

  
  


Everything had been going so well.  _ So  _ well. 

  
  


She'd had him back. She'd had her brother back, almost.

And now…

  
  


"Zoe, fuck, fucking shit what the fuck do we do? Zoe what do we  _ do?  _ _ Zoe why aren't you saying anything?" _

Zoe finally musters the energy to slide her gaze across to Evan, and something inside her just...breaks. He’s turned a sickly shade of gray, and he looks so fragile that Zoe thinks for a moment she can see through his skin, like a ghost. Frightened tears are beginning to collect in the corners of his eyes.

She's faintly aware of the sound of Connor's engine revving, the car peeling out of the driveway and speeding off, and her five separate hearts all drop at once.

"Shit," she finally whispers, because there's nothing else to say.

  
  


Evan's Adam's apple bobs, like he's trying to swallow but his throat is too dry to manage it. The motion creates a raw, gagging sort of sound.

  
  


Zoe's stomach is still swirling.

  
  


"We...we need to go after him. Zoe, we have to  _ go. _ "

  
  


Zoe gives Evan a proper once-over. He's still kind of see-through, a quivering, liquidy, imaginary thing. He's Jello on a plate and Saran wrap that's been creased too many times.

  
  


Zoe makes up her mind almost immediately.

"No," she says, and is surprised by how croaky and weak her voice sounds. "No, you...no."  
  


" _ Zoe," _ Evan chokes out, and he's trembling, and the tears have begun to fall. "Zoe, we  _ have to." _

"No," Zoe says again, giving her head a hard little shake and forcing strength into her bones. "No. You're...Evan, you’re in no state to calm Connor down. You’re--”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Evan says in a rush. “I’m  _ fine _ , we can’t just let him--”

“No,” Zoe says once more. “I’ll go. I’ll go find him. You should just stay here. Or go home. I’ll text you. I’ll let you know what’s--”

“Zoe, I can’t do that, I can’t just--” Evan babbles helplessly, and Zoe grabs his hand and holds tight.

“If we both go,” she says, working hard to keep her voice slow and steady and rational, “he’ll see it as an attack. He’ll think we’re ganging up on him. Or that we’ve come to laugh at him. You know what he’s like, Evan. When something’s hurt him, he kind of defaults to paranoid, thinks everyone’s out to get him. We  _ can’t _ both go. And you’re--Evan. Evan,  _ breathe _ .”

Evan doesn’t. 

Won’t. 

Can’t. 

  
  


_ “Evan,”  _ Zoe says, in a strangled sort of way, and Evan sucks back a shrieking breath, sounding like his throat is full of rocks.

“Evan. I’m going alone. I need you to stay behind. You need to look after yourself right now. You can’t do anything for Connor like this. Evan, I can’t be trying to calm  _ both  _ of you down at once, Evan I just  _ can’t--” _

  
  


Evan seems to take pity on Zoe when he hears how overwhelmed she sounds. He forces himself to take several more rough, gravelly breaths. 

  
  


He’s quiet for a long time.

  
  


“OK,” he finally says, timid and small, “OK, I’ll...can I stay here? And you’ll text me if--?”

“Yeah,” says Zoe. “Yeah, I’ll...I’ll keep you updated, OK?”

“OK,” says Evan again. “OK.”

It’s only when Zoe stands, knees like gelatin, and grabs her car keys, that she realizes she’s got no idea where Connor’s disappeared to.

Evan’s fingers are flying over his phone’s keypad at top speed.

“Hang on,” he mutters, as though to himself, and Zoe’s phone suddenly buzzes from on her nightstand.

Evan has texted her a list.

_ park next to construction site near my house _

_ alley behind school parking lot _

_ orchard _

_ abandoned lot on capital street (near corner) _

_ ellison  _

“Places he goes to be alone,” says Evan. “Start with those.”

  
  


So Zoe drives.

She’s barely aware of the trip. Her mind is blank, and undefined images flicker past her windows, leering in at her. She stops at red lights, and drives at the speed limit, and gives way when she needs to, but she’s an automaton; nothing going on behind her eyes. She follows the list on her phone methodically, getting out at every location and calling Connor’s name, sometimes screaming it, because...

  
  


Because what if she can’t find him?

What if she can’t fix this?

  
  


Connor’s not at the park next to the construction site near Evan’s house. 

He’s not at the alley behind the school parking lot, or the orchard, or the abandoned lot near the corner of Capital Street.

Zoe’s throat is beginning to hurt from shouting.

She texts Evan after every failed attempt. He responds with  _ ok _ every time, just  _ ok _ , like he can’t bring himself to say anything else, and it just makes Zoe more aware of the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.

  
  


She steps out at Ellison State Park, locks her car, and starts walking.

It’s a beautiful afternoon, unseasonably warm for November, and quiet, and the setting sun spills rivulets of golden light through the trees. Fall leaves crunch under Zoe’s feet as she steps hesitantly through the wooded glade, feeling sick as she realizes how fucking huge this damn park is. 

Connor could be anywhere.

If he’s even here at all.

  
  


Zoe runs her fingers over the gnarled tree trunks, warm and rough against her skin. She walks and she walks and she walks, calling out Connor’s name here and there and getting no response. She asks a few passers-by if they’ve seen him, seen a long-haired, skinny boy with a pointy face, but nobody has. There’s not many people around to ask anyway; it’s nearing evening, and most of the park-dwellers have headed home for the day.

  
  


She sends Evan a ‘ _ still no luck. hang in there’  _ and Evan says ‘ _ ok’ _ , and Zoe feels like crying, and she wants to scream, and she wants to kick something, and she walks and she walks and she walks.

  
  


She’s close to giving up when she checks her phone and realizes she’s been at Ellison for almost an hour. But the warm weight of the phone in her hand sparks a sudden idea, and she feels like an idiot for not having thought of it earlier.

She’s not even sure Connor has his phone on him. And if he does, he’s probably turned it off, or stomped it to death by now, in response to the billions of messages Evan’s most likely sent. 

  
  


It probably won’t work. But on the off chance it does…

  
  


Zoe looks up Connor’s number, hits call, then waits and listens as hard as she can, brow furrowed in concentration.

  
  


The park is silent, save for the soft chirp of crickets beginning to come out for the night.

  
  


So Zoe walks and walks and walks. Then tries again.

  
  


And sure enough, this time, she hears it.

  
  


Faint, but there.

  
  


The marimba of the default iPhone ringtone. The ringtone Connor’s never bothered to change.

  
  


Zoe’s never been so glad to hear that stupid marimba before in her life.

  
  


She breaks into a sprint, pausing here and there to figure out the direction the sound is coming from, and the leaves are crunching and the wind whips her hair all askew, and she’s holding her phone in a vice grip and the marimba grows louder and louder and louder, and then, there he is.

  
  


Connor’s phone is lying several feet away from him, like he’s thrown it, which is not at all surprising. Zoe quickly hits end call, and the marimba falls silent.  


  
  


“Um...hi,” says Zoe, trying to manage a calm, pacifying tone despite her still-racing heart.

  
  


Connor is sitting with his back against a tree, curled in a tight ball with his face against his knees.

  
  


He is still and silent.

  
  


It’s scary.

  
  


“Connor,” tries Zoe, even though she has no idea what she’s planning on following up with, because the goal had been to  _ find  _ him, and find him still in one piece, and Zoe’s been kind of preoccupied with that and now has no clue how to proceed. “Connor--”

  
  


_ “Fuck. Off.” _

  
  


It's muffled, muted from where Connor's mouth is pressed against his jeans, but the ice in his voice still comes through so intensely that Zoe takes a little half-step back.

“OK,” Zoe whispers. “OK, I know how you must be feeling, but--”

“How I must be feeling,” Connor repeats hollowly.

He still hasn’t looked up.

Fuck.

“How I must be feeling. You think  _ you  _ know how I must be  _ feeling.” _

Zoe swallows, and it’s loud, too loud.

“You’re...you’re a bitch, Zoe. You’re such a fucking  _ bitch _ .”  
  


“Connor--” she says again, but stops when Connor stands abruptly, robotically, and stares out past Zoe into the trees.

His face is raw and ravaged, eyes and nose and lips reddened from the salt of tears. 

It seems to take every ounce of self-control Connor has to force a mask of blank apathy onto his face, but there’s too much pain in his eyes for it to sit right. 

His bottom lip is quivering.

_ “Connor.” _

Connor doesn’t respond. His eyes harden a little, and the corner of his lip quirks in what could be a smile, but it isn’t, it really isn’t, it’s too hateful and vicious to be a smile, and Zoe hates that look, she fucking  _ hates  _ that look, and it’s hauntingly familiar and somehow foreign, now, because she hasn’t seen it in so goddamn long.

  
  


Zoe was starting to think she might never see that fucking look ever again. 

  
  


She sucks in a breath and holds it as she waits for the inevitable onslaught, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Connor turns on his heel, and walks away, striding into the trees purposefully, leaving Zoe standing in the clearing, gaping at the empty spot Connor’s left behind.

She stumbles after him mechanically, barely aware of anything but the need to  _ fix this. _

“Connor,” she chokes out. “Connor, wait. Just--just wait a fucking second, would you?”

Connor maintains his stride, and his legs are that much longer than Zoe’s that she almost has to run to keep up with him.

“I said, leave me the  _ fuck _ alone,” Connor spits. 

“Connor, will you just let me explain--”

  
  


Connor wheels around violently, and Zoe almost runs right into him. 

  
  


She stumbles backwards.

  
  


Connor’s hands ball into fists.

  
  


“Explain  _ what _ , Zoe? Explain that while you’ve been getting all buddy-buddy with my fucking  _ best friend _ , the two of you have just been talking shit about me the entire time? Explain that I’m a fucking  _ joke  _ to the two of you? That you think it’s fucking  _ funny _ that I...that I’m…”

The fury in his voice suddenly falters.

He’s standing in the clearing, several paces away from Zoe, fenced in by trees. His eyes flash with betrayal and anguish, and they dart around wildly like he’s looking for somewhere to run. Zoe takes a cautious step towards him, and he immediately jolts back, keeping his distance.

  
  


_ He was just scared, and hurting, and didn’t know who to trust,  _ says Evan, in Zoe’s kitchen, nursing a glass of water, and Zoe sees blood and teeth and fear.

  
  


“...that you what, Connor?” Zoe coaxes, as gently as possible, but Connor’s too far gone, and the hard wall in his eyes immediately slams back up.

  
  


“Fuck you, Zoe.  _ Fuck you,”  _ he snarls.

_ When the rangers came to get him he went totally ballistic, even though they were just trying to help him but he didn’t know that.  _

  
  


“Connor...you...you like him, don’t you? You like Evan,” Zoe says, and she’s treading on unsteady ground here and she knows it.

“Fuck you,  _ fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou--”  _

“Connor...Connor, he  _ likes  _ you, OK? Evan--”

  
  


_ All he knew was that he was…he was in pain, and he was just trying to protect himself from getting hurt more. _

  
  


“You. Are a  _ fucking cunt, Zoe,”  _ Connor says, screams, his voice raw and broken and bleeding as it bounces off the trees, all blinding hot rage, abrupt and frightening.

There’s something wild and erratic about Connor’s eyes, now, whirling with distrust and hurt and hate, and when he takes a half step towards Zoe, she’s actually a little scared of him, just for a second.

“Where do you fucking get off on this, Zoe? What is your  _ fucking problem?  _ Is it not fucking  _ enough  _ that you have everything? Smart, popular,  _ perfect  _ Zoe Murphy. The one time,  _ the one time  _ I have something that’s  _ mine _ , that’s just  _ mine,  _ you have to fucking take that from me, too. Evan’s--Evan was the  _ one fucking thing _ , fuck you’re such a fucking  _ bitch Zoe.  _ And then you have the fucking  _ audacity _ to come here and tell me he  _ likes  _ me. When I literally just fucking heard him laughing his ass off, the both of you fucking  _ pissing  _ yourselves laughing over the very  _ idea _ that Evan might love me back. Too fucking funny, right? Because why the  _ fuck  _ would Evan love  _ me?  _ And then you’re gonna come and lie to my fucking face about it? Did Evan put you up to it? Who’s idea was it, Zoe? What fucking game are you two playing at? What the  _ fuck  _ do you  _ want  _ from me?”

  
  


_ He was just scared, and hurting, and didn’t know who to trust.  _

  
  


_ Blood and teeth and fear. _

  
  


Zoe opens her mouth to respond, knowing full well there’s nothing she can say that will soothe Connor at this point, not when he’s lost in his anger like this, and she wishes she knew what to do to just make him listen, but then it doesn’t matter anymore, because Connor turns, and slams his clenched fist into the nearest tree trunk.

  
  


There’s a sickening crack.

  
  


Zoe feels every cell in her body recoil in second-hand agony at the sound.

  
  


Connor tries to hold back a surprised whimper of pain, but it slips out anyway, and his eyes dart down to his still-clenched fist, wide-eyed. 

  
  


He’d thrown the punch without even thinking about the consequences, without even considering that the surrounding oak trees are a hell of a lot tougher than the delicate bones of Connor’s fingers, at least one of which is certainly now broken.

  
  


Connor cradles his fist with his other hand, and then looks up at Zoe again, still wide-eyed with shock, and something else, something that it takes Zoe a moment to recognize.

  
  


He looks horrified. Horrified and completely disgusted with himself for losing it like that.

“Connor,” Zoe whispers, and her voice is wavering, and when she raises her fingers to her cheeks she’s surprised to find them wet. “Connor, it’s OK, you’re OK. Just--just listen, OK? You’ve...really fucked up your hand. You need to let me help you. Just let me help you, OK? Just--”

Connor gives a slow shake of his head.

The look of horror remains firmly etched into his features.

He runs.

_ Fuck. _

Zoe finds herself sinking to her knees. It’s getting dark now, and she’s well and truly off the walking trail, and she has absolutely no idea how to get back to her car.

And her brother is stumbling around in a darkening national park with a broken hand.

And probably a death wish, too.

Zoe unlocks her phone, and taps through her contacts with shaking fingers.

“Hey, Ev. You need to come down here. Please.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It isn't OK. It isn't. I've fucked everything up. I was supposed to be helping you, and now...fuck, Evan what if we can't find him? What if he does something stupid? What if he--" 
> 
> Evan cuts her off with a firm tone and a shoulder squeeze, both of which Zoe realizes, hazily, that he's learnt from her.
> 
> "We'll find him. We will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have RETURNED. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter took a little longer - writers block, ugh. 
> 
> This is still...angst, but things ARE looking up, I promise! 
> 
> I also have a rough plan for the remainder of this story - we should have around three chapters to go, which means it's coming to a close! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it and left comments on every chapter. You guys are amazing. 
> 
> TW: Connor being Sad, some pretty mild description of broken bones that might bug you if you're super-squeamish. Some swears.

* * *

Zoe is still sitting on the forest floor when Evan arrives.

She’s staring at the backs of her arms, watching the goosebumps form; the pale, downy hairs standing on end as the air grows colder and the sky turns deepest blue.

When Zoe cranes her neck she sees the flecks of stars appearing above her, like holes poked in the lid of a box, and despite the wide expanse of dark trees stretching on before her, she feels trapped; claustrophobic. Her stomach churns threateningly, eyes stinging as she fights back yet another surge of tears.

Evan had stayed on the line with Zoe the whole ride there. She' d heard him fumbling to tug on his shoes, muttering about getting an Uber because he doesn't drive and it would take way too long to walk, even though she knows Evan hates catching Ubers alone, because what if the driver tries to make small talk, or the driver goes the wrong way and Evan's too scared to correct them, or the driver turns out to be an axe murderer that drives Evan into the woods and hacks him up into tiny little pieces?

And despite all that Evan had gotten in an Uber anyway, and he had stayed on the line the whole trip, going  _ it's OK, you're OK,  _ as Zoe sniveled pathetically into the phone, sitting frog-legged in the dirt in that way that’s bad for your knees.

It had almost felt a bit Twilight Zone to have  _ Evan _ comforting  _ her  _ for once.

She'd told him about Connor's long, furious rant, and the betrayed look in Connor's eyes, and the part where he'd rammed his hand into a tree.

She'd told him about the sound of crunching bone, which had made Evan whimper a little, and Zoe had apologized, going  _ sorry, I shouldn't have told you that, sorry, sorry  _ through Evan's quiet, shallow breaths.

She'd told him about Connor bolting. Running into the dark, into the cold, still cradling his broken fingers against his chest. 

And Evan had listened. 

And then he'd said:

_ "OK. But are  _ _ you _ _ OK, though?"  _

Zoe hadn't understood.

_ "He's...Connor, he's--" _

_ "I know." _

Evan had sounded so patient, his voice uncharacteristically steady through the tinny phone speaker.  _ "I know Connor's...not doing good. And I'm fucking terrified about it, believe me. But right now I need to know if  _ _ you're _ _ OK." _

_ "...Why?" _

_ "Zoe. You're my best friend." _

And it was said so simply, so matter-of-factly, like that's something Zoe should just  _ know _ , and before Zoe even had a chance to process this, she'd started bawling, choking out ugly, hiccuping sobs, sucking back as much air as she could in between them, slowly spiraling into hysterics, because.

Because when Connor's bad, nobody ever,  _ ever _ asks if  _ Zoe  _ is OK. 

So Zoe had cried and cried, going  _ no, I'm not, I'm not OK _ and Evan had asked where she was, asked how to find her, but Zoe didn't _ know,  _ she just  _ didn't fucking know-- _

_ "OK. OK, just--what can you see? Can you describe it to me?" _

_ “Trees,” _ Zoe had told him, stupidly. “ _ Big ones.There's no path. And no signs.” _

_ "Is there, like...a bench around?" _

And when Zoe had used the light from her phone to scan the clearing, sure enough, there it was. A bit of a distance away, but definitely there, nestled amongst the trees up ahead.

_ "I know where you are. Stay there." _

Evan really is good. He knows the park unbelievably well, and it's only about ten minutes after Zoe gives her vague as fuck explanation of where she is that she hears the crackle of leaves under sprinting feet, and hears Evan's voice, thin and metallic through the phone, going  _ OK, I can see you, I'm gonna hang up now, OK _ ?

And then he's there, hunched over and panting as he tries to catch his breath. 

"You alright?" Evan eventually manages, and he extends a hand to help Zoe to her feet.

And the second Zoe's upright she's almost bowling Evan over, tackling him in a fierce hug, and she's shaking and crying and Evan's going  _ you're OK, it's OK _ and for moment, Zoe almost believes that it is.

But it isn't.

She tells Evan so.

"It  _ isn't _ ," she says. "It  _ isn't _ . I've fucked everything up. I was supposed to be  _ helping  _ you, and now... _ fuck _ , Evan what if we can't find him? What if he does something stupid? What if he--" 

Evan cuts her off with a firm tone and a shoulder squeeze, both of which Zoe realizes, hazily, that he's learnt from her.

"We'll find him. We will."

So they start walking. Evan uses Connor's discarded phone to light the way, the fall leaves turning a ghostly gray in the LED glow, limbs and boughs creating unnatural, twitching shadows that make Zoe feel a little jumpy. 

Evan barely seems to notice them. 

He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead, moving quickly, only breaking stride to look back at Zoe every now and again. When Zoe slows down, he gives her hand a comforting squeeze until Zoe nods that she's fine and picks up the pace once more.

It feels like they walk for a long time. Zoe wants to check her phone to see  _ how _ long, but that would involve stopping, and Zoe doesn't want to stop, not even for a moment.

She just...wants to find Connor.

At first, she's sure she's imagined it.

The phone's flashlight, the trees; together, they keep sending odd black shapes spinning around her, and she's been pointedly ignoring them, which is why when she first spots what seems to be black combat boots in her peripheral vision, her brain automatically blocks it out.

But then...

Her vice-like grip on Evan's hand tightens, and she must be completely crushing his fingers, and then that makes her think about  _ Connor's _ crushed fingers, and she quickly loosens her hold and whispers Evan's name instead.

Evan freezes, and turns in the direction Zoe's looking.

It's funny, watching how Evan reacts. Not ‘ha-ha’ funny, just…

Zoe doesn't even know how to explain it. She's done with words for the day. This impossibly long, terrible day.

All she can say, is that Evan's shoulders immediately relax upon seeing Connor's boots, Connor's legs, sprawled out on the ground several yards away from them, then suddenly tense again, because.

Because if Connor's legs are sprawled out on the ground, that means  _ Connor _ is sprawled out on the ground.

"Stay here," Evan tells her firmly, and he breaks into a sprint.

Zoe can’t help but obey. She's rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear and dread and the vague realization that Evan’s voice hadn’t wavered, not even a little bit.

He stops when he reaches the combat boots and long legs, and says “Connor?” and he sounds calm and steady and strong and so  _ unlike _ the Evan that Zoe knows, that she finds herself stumbling forward to get a better look. She doesn’t really want Connor to know she’s there; she certainly doesn’t want a repeat of her last interaction with him, but... she needs to hear this. Just in case Connor flips out and Evan needs help.

Not that Zoe’s in any state of mind to be of any help to anyone right now. But the sentiment is there.

She takes a few quiet, cautious steps forward, and Connor slides into her field of vision.

He’s sitting upright amongst the trees, still holding his hand protectively against his chest. He’s shivering from the chill of the evening, and perhaps the shock of his injury, too, and his shoulders quiver with shuddering little sobs.

And he’s alive. 

He’s alive.

“Connor,” Evan says again, and Zoe strains to hear him. “Connor, look at me.”

Zoe can hardly believe it when Connor does.

He glances weakly up at Evan, and Zoe can see his bottom lip trembling in the low light. He lets out a helpless little whimper, then clenches his jaw, like he’s trying to retroactively hold it back.

“What do  _ you  _ want?” Connor demands.

He’s trying to be intimidating, but he just sounds like a lost little boy.

He seems to immediately realize it, too. A sob wrenches its way out of him, and he hangs his head limply, helplessly. His hair dangles in his eyes, obscuring his face, and he makes no move to push it away.

Evan crouches down so he’s on Connor’s level, and reaches out to gently brush the hair back. The gesture makes Connor jolt in surprise, and his back slams hard into the tree trunk behind him.

“Go away, Evan. Just _go_.” 

He sounds...exhausted. Defeated. Done.

“Connor. Show me. Please.” 

But Evan doesn’t sound like he’s pleading. 

He sounds...in control. In control, but somehow still gentle and protective and warm.

Connor doesn’t move.

“Connor,” Evan says again, apparently undeterred, and he reaches for the hand curled against Connor’s chest, gingerly wrapping his fingers around Connor’s wrist.

Connor lets out a pained, wordless cry.

“Sorry,” murmurs Evan, and he carefully, carefully pulls Connor’s hand forward to cradle it in both of his own.

Zoe can’t really see the full extent of the damage from this far away, but Evan sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Connor, what have you done to yourself?”

Connor responds with a feeble half-shrug.

“Why do you care?” he mutters.

“ _ Because _ . Because I...I’m…”

Evan sighs, shakes his head.

“It’s not important now. You can’t stay here, Connor. We need to get you to an emergency room.”

Connor sniffles. The sound absolutely breaks Zoe’s heart.

“I’m...I’m fine.”

“Connor,” Evan says softly. “Connor, your wrist is...really messed up. Your fingers, too. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No,” says Connor, stubbornly. “I’m  _ fine.” _

“You’re lying,” says Evan, but it’s not accusatory, not even a little bit; it’s somehow concerned and just...heart-achingly compassionate. “You’re lying. You look like shit.”

Connor chokes out a bitter laugh that’s completely devoid of humor. 

“Yeah. I bet.”

“That isn’t…” Evan sighs again, and Zoe hears the barest hint of exasperation in it. “That’s not...you’re always beautiful. But you’re obviously in agony, your fingers are  _ purple _ , Connor. And I’m pretty sure they aren’t meant to bend that way.”

“I’m...I’m  _ what?”  _ Connor breathes.

There’s a long, piercing silence. 

The crickets sing.

“No,” Evan finally says, levelly. “Not now. I’m not going to do this now. You need to go to a hospital, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t respond.

“Please,” says Evan. “Please, Connor.”

And finally,  _ finally _ , Connor gives the tiniest little nod.

He gets to his feet, leaning heavily on Evan, who’s trying to avoid touching his injured hand. His knees buckle; from exhaustion or the pain of his broken bones, Zoe’s not sure. Evan slings one of Connor’s arms over his shoulders, baring his weight like it’s nothing. It probably is. Connor may be tall, but there’s nothing of him; Evan could probably carry him if he tried. 

“Zoe?” Evan calls, and Zoe’s legs hear him even if her brain doesn’t, and she hurtles forward, running towards them and then tugging Connor’s other arm over her own shoulders. 

Connor stares at her incredulously. 

“You’re still here,” he croaks, and they start walking back to the car, slow and laborious.

“Yeah,” Zoe replies quietly. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, and Connor leans on Evan again as Zoe unlocks her car, and the two of them load Connor into the backseat. Zoe’s not surprised when Evan climbs in next to him rather than taking the passenger side.

She quickly Googles nearby emergency rooms, but Evan says he can direct her to his mom’s work. So she shoves her phone in her pocket, sticks the key in the ignition, and is about to start her engine when Connor speaks, sounding frail and far, far too vulnerable for Zoe’s liking. 

“Why?” he rasps. “Why  _ are _ you still here?”

Zoe’s not quite sure how to answer that one without crying again. 

_ Because I hate seeing you hurting. _

_ Because you’re my brother. _

_ Because I love you. _

Instead, Zoe gives him a tiny half-smile in her rear vision mirror.

“I just...I don’t think any dogs are bad dogs, that’s all.”

Evan makes a soft noise of understanding; a warm little hum in the back of his throat.

Connor looks completely bewildered.

Evan is holding his unbroken hand.

“Did Evan ever tell you about the lost dog that was here over the summer he was working?”

“No?”

Zoe gives Evan a pointed look over her shoulder, and hopes he gets the message. Connor needs something to distract him from the pain he’s in, and the story about the collie is perfect.

“We’ve got a bit of a drive. Tell him the story, Ev.”

And everything is fragile, and still kind of broken. 

But as Zoe’s car peels away from Ellison State Park, she can’t help but think that at least she’s collected all the pieces back up again. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You called him beautiful, you know?” Zoe says, and she feels Evan exhale shakily, like he’s forcing every last ounce of oxygen out of his body.
> 
> “I know,” he admits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!!
> 
> This chapter just POURED OUT, I don't even know what happened. So. Yeah. Here's more. 
> 
> We're gradually moving back towards fluff and humor but Connor has just been through An Ordeal™ so it's not all going to be sunshine and rainbows just yet. But I PROMISE these boys will get the ending they deserve, and the ending you guys deserve, too!
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments, as always. I feel like a broken record, but just. Thank you. <3
> 
> TW: some swears, medical descriptions of broken bones (nothing graphic or icky!) sad connor, high connor

* * *

According to astrologer Jessica Adams for Cosmopolitan magazine, November is going to be an _intense_ month for Tauruses.

_A_ _big_ _change is soon to come - new love, perhaps?_

Zoe tries not to laugh.

_You may find that a little break is exactly what you need to ease the stress in your life!_

A “little break” is kind of contributing to Zoe’s current stress levels, thank you, Jessica.

_A quiet, zen space will also do wonders if you’re feeling a little pent up this month, Taurus girls! Try going for walks in forests and parks to relax and unwind; you’ll be surprised how much inner peace it will bring you!_

Jessica, just...fuck you, Jessica.

Zoe slams the tattered magazine shut. The motion makes Evan jump.

“You OK?” he asks, and Zoe waves his concern away with an awkward laugh. 

“Yeah. Horoscopes. Just...it was ironic, that’s all.”

Evan gives a non-committal hum of acknowledgement, then goes back to picking at his cuticles.

Apparently, Connor's wrist is broken in two places, and he has distal, medial and proximal nondisplaced fractures in his middle finger, and displaced proximal fractures in his index finger and thumb, with several hairline fractures along his pinky. Which meant that yes, Connor's hand was screwed, but treatable. He'd regain full use of it after a month or two; nothing that a complicated series of splints couldn't fix.

Thankfully, since Connor is eighteen and legally an adult, the hospital _technically_ isn’t required to call Larry and Cynthia, although the nurse at reception had seemed a little concerned at Zoe’s insistence at this fact, going _are you sure, honey_ with a furrowed brow, and Zoe had abruptly realized that she probably thought that Connor was being abused or something.

_Our parents are out of town, is all_ Zoe had lied, on impulse, because she just...doesn’t think any of them can deal with the Murphy adults this evening. It’s been taxing enough as it is. _I’m his sister. I can look after him.  
_

And the nurse had reluctantly accepted this. _So long as he has a safe ride home,_ she’d told Zoe. _Doctor McCormack’s putting him on some fairly strong pain medication that’s likely to make him pretty sleepy, and a bit loopy, too. So he’s absolutely_ _not_ _to try and drive home by himself._

So thank fuck for Zoe.

Zoe dumps the magazine back on the pile of waiting room rejects, and wriggles uncomfortably in the hard, plastic seat. She feels heavy and tired, even though it’s barely nine. When she tilts her head back to lean against the wall behind her, her eyes slip shut involuntarily, and she blinks hard to force herself awake.

“I’ll wake you up if you wanna doze off for a bit,” Evan says softly, and Zoe wants to hug him. “Shouldn’t be too much longer though.”

“Nah, I’m OK,” says Zoe, sitting up straighter, tightening herself into alertness. “But thanks.”

“You want me to get you a coffee, or something?”

Zoe shakes her head, smiles.

“Nah. You’re great, though.”

She leans her head against Evan’s shoulder, and Evan swings his foot to the side to bump against hers in a gentle kick.

The fluorescent light above them hums, white and clean and soothing, and Zoe takes in the waiting room; the shitty plastic seats and the reception desk with its artificial pot plants covered in dust, and the vending machines and the ominous rows of pamphlets hanging on the wall, all Hepatitis and Chlamydia and The Importance Of Regular Bowel Screenings. 

“So you were like...amazing tonight, what the fuck?” Zoe mumbles before the sentence has truly taken form in her head, and Evan lets out a quiet huff of laugh that makes his shoulder shake, and it jostles Zoe’s head, and she elbows him in the arm and says “dude,” in a disgruntled kind of way that just makes the shoulder shake more.

“Hope Connor’s the one saying that to me one day,” Evan quips, and they both chuckle, whisper-quiet in the silence and sterility of the waiting room.

“Gross,” Zoe mutters, and she elbows him again, and Evan just grins and says, “Deal with it.”

They lapse into companionable silence for a while.

“I mean it, though,” Zoe finally says, insistently, because she’s not about to let this go, because Evan needs to know. “You just...took control of the whole situation. You were so calm.”

Evan makes an incredulous, breathy noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“What? No way. I was scared out of my mind. I thought I was gonna pass out.”

“I never would have guessed. Honest. You didn’t show it. Like, at all. How the fuck did you _do_ that?”

“I don’t know,” Evan confesses, and he gets an introspective sort of look about him. “I really don’t know. I guess I was just so concerned with making sure he was OK, and that _you_ were OK, that it just...drowned out the millions of voices in my head until there was just one. And then I just...did what I had to do, I guess. I dunno. That probably sounds really weird.”

“It doesn’t,” says Zoe instantly, and Evan gives her an appreciative little smile.

And then he’s shifting in his seat, peering hopefully down the hallway for what feels like the hundredth time, and Zoe lifts her head so he can get a proper look.

But Connor still hasn’t emerged.

“Are you gonna come with us?” Zoe asks, in hopes of distracting him from his obvious worry. “When he’s out. Are you gonna come back to our place, or…?”

Evan thinks about this for a moment. 

“I shouldn’t,” he eventually says, reluctantly. “You guys probably have a lot to talk out. Besides, Beth at reception has already paged my mom and told her I’m here. She’ll freak out if I just...show up at her work on a Friday night and then disappear without even talking to her. Her shift is over soon; I can get a ride home with her.”

Zoe nods in understanding, but she can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“Yeah, OK,” she says. 

Her eyes slide tiredly over the waiting room again, over the stack of decrepit children’s books and the water cooler and the fresh white strips of light above them.

“What if he asks for you?” she says quietly. “Because he will, you know.”

Evan stiffens in his seat.

He obviously hadn’t thought of this.

“And before you tell me to ‘make something up’, you need to remember that I suck at that,” Zoe adds, and she pokes him in the ribs to try and wipe the sudden uneasiness from his face. “Last time, I called you a _hybrid car_. Like. Clearly, you’re gonna need to tell me exactly what to say.”

Evan’s posture stays rigid and strained, but his mouth begins to curve in a tiny smile, creating a dimple in his chin. He’s silent for a while as he considers his options, the only sound being the grating click-click-click as he chips at his nails.

“Tell him the truth,” he finally concedes. “Tell him I went home with my mom, and that I hope he feels better soon, and that I’ll drop in to check on him as soon as I can. Tomorrow, probably. And that I...that I care about him a whole lot. Bunches.”

Zoe smiles fondly.

“Not gonna make me give him your full love confession, or…?” she teases, and Evan chuckles good-naturedly.

“I think I’ve tortured you enough,” he says with a grin. “I reckon I’ll handle that one myself. But not tonight.”

“No,” Zoe agrees, “not tonight.” 

Then, because she’s nosy and she can’t help but ask: 

“You freaking out about it?”

“Yep,” Evan responds tightly.

“Never would have guessed,” says Zoe for the second time that evening, and she bumps her shoulder against his.

It’s quiet.

“You called him beautiful, you know?” Zoe says, and she feels Evan exhale shakily, like he’s forcing every last ounce of oxygen out of his body.

“I know,” he admits. 

“But still. Not tonight.”

“Yep. Not tonight.”

Evan’s already reluctantly gone home by the time Connor reappears, his fingers and wrist bound in splints and eyes all unfocused as a nurse guides him down the hallway with her hands around his shoulders to steady him. He looks totally out of it, and the nurse settles him in one of the waiting room chairs as she talks to Zoe, reminding her once again about the pain medication, the potential side effects over the next 24 hours, and passing her a bunch of paperwork and refill prescriptions and hospital bills. Zoe nods politely, not really listening and just... _dying_ to go _home,_ in all honesty.

The only one who could possibly be taking in any less than Zoe is Connor. He’s staring down at his splinted hand in confusion, like he’s seeing it for the first time, looking sluggishly up at Zoe every now and then, and then the nurse, who’s still jabbering away. 

They’re _finally_ given the all clear to go, which is still kind of unbelievable to Zoe. She’d been so sure they’d insist on calling her parents, and she wonders if Evan’s had something to do with it. He knows all the hospital staff, after all. She wouldn’t put it past him to be pulling a few strings behind her back.

She makes a mental note to thank him tomorrow.

“Ready?” Zoe asks Connor, and he squints up at her through glassy eyes and is quiet for a long time.

“I am...a cyborg,” he eventually says, with a great deal of effort. 

And he holds up his splinted hand as evidence.

He tries to wiggle his fingers, but they’re all in plastic splints, and won’t budge.

“...I’m malfunctioning,” Connor adds, and Zoe can’t help the little snicker that escapes, because...

Oh dear. 

Poor Connor.

She manages to get him strapped into the passenger seat of her car, which takes some time because he keeps stopping to examine his injured hand, and he tries to pull the splints off a couple of times, and Zoe goes _Connor,_ _no_ as firmly as she can until he stops.

Connor rests his head against the window, like he’s got no control over the muscles in his neck, staring through the glass, focused on nothing.

Zoe pulls out of the parking lot and turns onto the main road.

“Evan,” Connor says, blearily, seemingly out of the blue. “Evan was here. Where’s Evan?”

Zoe gives Connor a sympathetic smile which he does not see.

She’d called it. She’d totally called it.

“He had to go home,” she replies carefully, unsure of how Connor’s going to process...well, anything, given the state he’s in.

Connor keeps staring out the window.

“Oh,” he says.

He sounds so small.

“But he said he cares about you a lot. Bunches,” she adds, hurriedly. “He’ll probably come visit tomorrow.”

Connor hums vaguely in response, a soft little “mm,” that Zoe can’t read.

“Hey,” Connor says suddenly, lifting his head to look at Zoe properly. His words are slurring together so badly that it takes a concentrated effort to decipher them. “I'm sorry I called you a cunt. You're not a cunt.”

Connor tries to lean his face against the window once more, but completely misjudges the weight of his own head, and his skull hits the glass with a resounding thud that makes Zoe wince, then giggle at Connor’s irritable little “ow, fuck you,” that seems to be directed at the window itself. 

“Careful, idiot. I don't wanna have to turn around and drive you back there.”

“‘S fine. I’m OK.”

Connor tries to rub at the sore spot on his head, but he’s obviously forgotten about the splint, and rigid, plasticky fingers ram into his face instead, and Zoe’s laughing outright now, and it feels like such a _relief_ to be able to do that after how Completely Fucking Awful this night has been.

“Shut up,” Connor mutters sulkily. “S’not funny. I broke my drawing hand.”

“Should've punched with your left, then,” Zoe says blithely, and thankfully Connor’s starting to see the funny side of all this, because he grins crookedly, cheek pressed against the glass.

And Zoe realizes that this is the perfect opportunity to just...air all this out. When Connor’s high and docile and spacey.

There’s no risk of anything going wrong. And if it does go wrong, she’s doubtful Connor will remember it all that clearly, anyway.

She takes a deep breath.

“Hey, listen...I don’t know how much of this you’re gonna take in but, um. About earlier? You honestly just overheard like...the absolute _worst_ part of that conversation. Like, yeah, you heard what you heard, but in context it was...we weren’t talking shit about you, OK? Like. At all. If anything it was...the opposite. Evan...he wouldn’t do that to you. _I_ wouldn’t do that to you.”

Connor doesn’t answer. It’s just started to rain, and he’s sliding one of his unbroken fingers along the window, chasing the drops on the other side.

“So. Yeah.” Zoe finishes, lamely.

Connor still doesn’t answer. Zoe wonders if he’s heard a word she’s said.

Perhaps it’s best to keep the conversation short and sweet, for tonight.

“Whatcha looking at?” Zoe asks gently.

“Moon’s following us,” Connor mumbles sleepily in reply.

There’s something so very childlike about Connor’s response that it makes Zoe’s chest ache.

When Connor eventually speaks again, it’s unprompted. 

And it’s soft and small and scared.

It’s so, so scared.

“I fucking love him Zoe. I fucking love him so much.”

Zoe reaches across and gives Connor’s forearm a squeeze, and for a moment she’s back in her bedroom after Connor’s first day of therapy, holding onto his arm as he cries.

“Yeah,” says Zoe gently. “Yeah, I know.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“He does, my dude.”

“He doesn’t. He doesn’t.”

Connor sounds only half there, and when she looks across his eyes are heavy-lidded, just the barest sliver of blue visible beneath his lashes. He’s falling asleep.

“How could he, after tonight? I’m...fucking broken, Zo. My brain is fucking broken. What kind of psycho runs off into the woods and breaks his hand punching stuff, and screams at his sister and...and…”

The words are all joined together, like beads on a string.

“He doesn’t love me. He...shouldn’t.”

He blinks hard, looks up at the moon as it follows them home. 

“But he’s my best friend,” Connor tells the moon. 

“And that’s enough. That can...be enough for me."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the following day, Saturday, at around two in the afternoon, that it all begins.
> 
> It starts with Zoe's phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO, GUYS.
> 
> Many much thanks to My Fave cecropia for looking over this chapter for me, because I was in struggletown. It was really important to me to get this chapter right, because you guys have stuck through nine chapters of build up and YOU DESERVE GOOD THINGS.
> 
> I hope it lives up to expectations. I'm freaking out, ngl. 
> 
> One chapter to go and then this bad boy is DONE! 
> 
> No TW, happy times ahead! A few casual f-bombs, I guess. But you'd be used to worse if you've read chapters 7-9 :PP

* * *

It's the following day, Saturday, at around two in the afternoon, that it all begins.

It starts with Zoe's phone.

She's been messing around with her guitar, trying a few covers but mostly strumming aimlessly. Her heart's not really in it today. She still feels kind of drained from the night before, despite sleeping for almost eleven hours. Connor's slept even longer; he'd only emerged from his room thirty minutes ago, looking disheveled and sleepy, and he'd poked his head around Zoe's doorway and offered her a little smile and a half-nod.

  
  


His usual routine.

  
  


And things feel stable again.

  
  


Connor says, "Thanks for sneaking me past mom and dad last night. Don't think I could've dealt with that." And Zoe eyes his splint and says "You know they're gonna find out eventually. Mom said they'll be home at seven."  


And Connor sighs and mutters, "Yeah."

Then, "Thanks."

  
  


Zoe goes back to half-heartedly plucking at her guitar.

  
  


And things feel stable. 

  
  


Steady.

  
  


But then, an hour or so later, Zoe’s phone lets out several buzzes in succession, going on and on, so much that Zoe is concerned for a moment that there's something wrong with it. 

  
  


**Evan:** hey im outside ur house

**Evan:** wait but dont come and let me in tho im gonna knock

**Evan:** i can't believe im fucking doing this zoe

**Evan:** fuck

**Evan:** im freaking out. in case u couldnt tell

**Evan:** wait is connor even awake yet??? I didnt even check???

**Evan:** my hands are so fucking sweaty I just dropped my phone shit

**Evan:** I might be having a heart attack can u have a heart attack at 18 is that even possible??

Zoe giggles, then immediately slaps a hand over her mouth in case Connor’s listening in.

  
  


**Zoe:** u are a flourishing succulent. u are a perfect c chord. u are the crispiest of curly fries. ok? <3

Evan types for a long time. The jiggling dots disappear, reappear, and disappear again.

**Evan:** idk what that means zoe

  
  


Zoe snorts.

  
  


**Zoe:** u have fuckin GOT THIS. chill xx

She thinks for a moment.

**Zoe:** if for some fuckin reason he turns u down i’ll break his other hand, ok?

**Evan:** don’t even joke

**Zoe:** i got ur back boo ;)) 

**Evan:** :(((((

Zoe waits, but she doesn’t hear a knock at the door.

**Zoe:** stop stalling dumbass

  
  


There's another long pause of three wobbling dots on Zoe's phone screen.

  
  


Then.

  
  


**Evan:** ok. shit. here we go

There’s a soft, tentative knock.

Zoe sets her phone down, props her guitar against her nightstand, and waits.

  
  


As expected, Connor’s head reappears a moment later, peering hesitantly around Zoe's door frame.

  
  


“Was that the front door?”

Zoe tries to answer as casually as she can.

“I think it’s for you.”

Connor stiffens.

Shit. Not casual enough.

“I...oh. Oh. OK.”

  
  


Connor pads downstairs, floorboards creaking under his bare feet, and heads towards the door.

Zoe watches him go, taking careful note of every creaky spot on the stairs, and, the second Connor can no longer see her, she follows him, moving stealthily, taking care to step on all the spots in between the ones that creak so as not to make a sound. She sits on the bottom step, as close as she dares, and prays the boys decide to stay in the living room so she can listen in.  
  


And also because. Well. It’ll be pretty awkward if they decide to go to Connor’s room only to find Zoe just casually hanging out on the staircase. She’s not sure she's creative enough to talk her way out of that one.

  
  


Zoe hears the front door open.

  
  


And then it’s... uncomfortably silent.

  
  


Zoe hopes Evan hasn’t bolted.

  
  


“Hi,” Connor finally says, shakily, and Zoe breathes a sigh of relief.

  
  


“Um. Hello.”

  
  


Um. Of course Evan opens with fucking  _ um.  _

  
  


“H-how are you feeling? Does it hurt?”

“A little,” says Connor, “but it’s not so bad now. Annoying, more than anything. I feel so  _ dumb. _ I don’t...I dunno why I did that.”

Evan doesn’t respond. Zoe wishes she could see his face, read his expressions. Hearing but not seeing is almost worse than not hearing at all.

  
  


Connor perseveres, haltingly. 

“I, uh. Was really drugged up last night. Think I told Zoe I was like...a robot or some shit. And I banged my head on the window.” He finishes with an awkward, half-hearted chuckle.

  
  


Evan takes a deep breath, so deep Zoe can hear it.

  
  


“But how...how are you feeling, otherwise? Like... _ feeling _ feeling?”

“Oh. Uh…”

  
  


Connor takes a moment, like he’s considering how to answer honestly.

  
  


“I dunno. Bad, I guess. Yeah. I’m...bad. But I’m not angry anymore.”

  
  


There’s another agonizing, drawn-out silence. Zoe feels the second-hand discomfort radiating from both boys, still standing by the front door, judging by the direction their voices are coming from.

  
  


“OK,” Evan finally says, “Yeah, that’s...I guess that's good?”

“I’m sorry,” Connor blurts out, abruptly. “I’m sorry about...I dunno, everything. For freaking out and disappearing and not letting you help me, at first. In the park. For being so...fucking crazy, I guess.”

“You aren’t crazy,” Evan says firmly, without a hint of doubt in his voice. “Don’t call yourself that.”

  
  


“Um," Connor croaks. "O-OK. Thanks."

  
  


He pauses.

  
  


“But, um. I’m still sorry, though. And I understand if you like...can’t accept that, or whatever. But I am.”

  
  


Evan doesn't reply. It seems like he's not sure what to say.

  
  


“And also, thank you,” Connor adds, in a rush, sounding kind of flustered.

“...Wait, for what?”

“Are you...are you kidding?”

  
  


Both boys have matching tones of bewilderment.

  
  


“For...for helping me, obviously, Evan. For dragging your ass out to Ellison, and paying fuck knows how much on an Uber, and being so fucking patient with me even when I just kept telling you to fuck off and leave me alone, and waiting at the hospital with Zoe for hours so she wouldn’t be by herself, and just...just everything. You didn’t have to do any of that. I don’t know why you did any of that.”

“Connor, because I…”

  
  


Zoe is holding her breath. She’s scooted forward so far on the step that she risks toppling forward onto her face.

  
  


“I...OK, you um. You know what you overheard yesterday? Me and Zoe laughing at that stupid joke, and you thought we--”

“I, um,” Connor interrupts, awkward and a little too loud. “Sorry, I just...I dunno if I really wanna talk about it.”

Evan does not accept this, and Zoe feels a rush of something akin to triumph.

“I know,” says Evan, evenly, “But we, um. Kind of need to.”

  
  


There's a pensive, stretching silence.

But then, eventually, it's followed by the sound of feet shuffling to the sofa in the living room, like a wordless agreement has been made through eye contact alone, and the couch squeaks a little as the two boys sit down. 

“So,” Evan begins, and he swallows roughly. “So. I guess the most important thing for you to know is that...that joke only came up because of...of other stuff Zoe and I had been talking about for a really long time. Weeks. I’d been...really tense about… some stuff. And miserable. I was, um. Really fucking miserable.”

“OK," says Connor slowly, processing. "But what, you couldn’t come to me about it?”

He sounds hurt.

“No, I--”

Evan steadies himself with a few deep breaths.

“No. I couldn’t. Not with this. But Zoe had been helping me. Giving me little pep talks and stuff. Being like...my wingman, I guess. Wing-girl. She’s been. Really great. But like...she only made that joke to try and cheer me up, and I  _ know  _ it probably still sounds like it was at your expense but it  _ wasn’t _ , if anything it was aimed at  _ me _ , like it was a joke about  _ me  _ being an idiot and not being able to just--”

“Wait, wingman? What do you mean, your wingman?”

And Zoe can’t  _ believe  _ that her dumb, gay brother missed her hint after hint after hint about The Situation With Evan, but for some reason, the word “wingman” has activated something in his brain, what the  _ fuck? _

“She was...like, she was helping me with--”

“You...you  _ like _ someone.”

And Connor sounds suddenly accusatory. His voice wavers with something reproachful, something...wounded.

“Zoe was trying to set you up with someone.”

And  _ for fucks sake Evan do something. Fix it fix it fix it. _

  
  


Evan is quiet, and Zoe just  _ knows _ he’s doing that fucking twisty thing with his shirt.

  
  


Zoe bites down hard on the inside of her cheek, and it takes every ounce of will power she has not to just march in there and fix the situation herself. 

  
  


But then, Evan answers. 

  
  


Unfaltering. Unflinching.

  
  


“Yes,” says Evan. “Yes. I’m um...I’m kind of--No. Not kind of. I’m in love.”

  
  


Connor is silent for a moment.

  
  


Then, limply:

  
  


“Right. Yeah, uh. OK."

  
  


He sounds...crushed. Absolutely crushed. 

Shattered. 

Destroyed.

  
  


“I’m…Connor, I’m…”

Despite all his umming and ah-ing and hesitant pauses, Evan’s voice is remarkably steady.

And then.

Then.

“Connor, I’m in love with  _ you.” _

Zoe’s suddenly very aware of every tiny noise in the silent house; the hum of the refrigerator and the chirp of birds in the yard and the tremulous breathing of the two boys in the living room, light with fear.

Her own breathing, too, which suddenly seems far too loud.

“You...you’re in love with…”

Connor trails off. He almost sounds dizzy, like he might pass out.  
  


“Yes,” says Evan resolutely.

  
  


“...You...you’re…”

Zoe can hear her own eyelids crinkle when she blinks, and when she looks down she realizes  _ she’s _ the one twisting  _ her _ shirt into a tiny tornado.

“...You’re fucking with me,” says Connor, but he’s not lashing out. It’s a statement, but one he desperately wants Evan to fight him on. Like he wants so so badly to be wrong, but his defenses are up, and he’s far too afraid to let them down without the reassurance that…

“No,” Evan says softly. “No, I’m not fucking with you. I’m in love with you.”

  
  


“...Why?” Connor whispers searchingly. “Evan,  _ why?” _

And it seems like Evan’s thrown his whole speech out the window, his whole  _ he’s my person _ speech, because all he says back is just.

“Why  _ wouldn’t  _ I be?”

The room goes quiet once more.

Then there’s a gentle, barely-there huff of affectionate, emotional laughter. Evan laughter.

“Don’t  _ cry _ , Connor oh my god.”

Connor lets out a quiet, watery little laugh, too.

He sniffles.

Then lets out an odd little hum of realization.

“Oh shit...cross-platform compatible. Oh my god I get it now. Fucking shit. I’m an  _ idiot.” _

And then Evan’s giggling, and then Connor is as well, and the sound is still wet and muffled with tears, and Zoe shoves her fist in her mouth to stop herself from joining in.

“So,” says Connor carefully, once the soft giggles have dissolved, “I’ve um...kind of been wanting to kiss you for like a solid six months?”

“Well,” Evan breathes, “maybe we should um. G-get onto that?”

And Connor mumbles, “Yeah.”

The room goes suspiciously quiet, and Zoe, grinning like a maniac, decides it’s time to take her leave.

She stands, and carefully makes her way up the stairs, avoiding the spots that creak.

And when she’s at the very top, she just barely catches the voice of her dumbass older brother, sounding exhilarated and out of breath, going “Shit, wait, I forgot to mention that I’m in love with you too, fuck,” and boys are Hopeless and Stupid and Dumb.

Zoe collapses onto her bed, still beaming, feeling a thrill of accomplishment. 

She feels like sunny days and rainy evenings and growing succulents and full boxes of chocolate glazed donuts. 

She feels...awesome.

It ends as it begins. With Zoe's phone.

She doesn't expect a response right away. And she doesn't get one right away.

But she needs to tell Evan. She needs to tell him how happy she is for him, how excited she is, and how proud, how overwhelmingly proud, because he  _ did _ it, he fucking  _ did it _ , and all on his own, and he fucking  _ nailed it _ , and she feels giddy with something like sisterly affection for him, for  _ both _ of them, the two idiot boys who are probably rather disgustingly making out on the Murphy's couch right now.

So she shoots Evan a quick text, one that says absolutely everything she wants to say. 

Everything she  _ needs  _ to say. 

**Zoe:** !!!!!!!!!!!!!

  
  


Her phone buzzes with Evan's response once, just once. Right after she hears the front door click shut.

Almost two hours later.

  
  


**Evan:** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's FINALLY DONE!
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this last chapter; I always knew it was gonna take me a hot minute to wrap this thing up, because I wanted to take the time to make Zoe the center of attention for once. It's HER story, after all! :-) But yeah. I guess I just hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Thank you so so so soooo much for all the support on this story! It means so much. When I posted my first oneshot I genuinely thought I'd be one and done, and that nobody would even read it, so it's kind of crazy to have an actual chapter fic with comments and kudos and bookmarks and just. everything. it blows my mind. 
> 
> thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you! And until next time! xox
> 
> No TW: just feelings and mostly happiness from here on out!

* * *

Three weeks go by.

It’s odd, the way that time moves. The pacing; the ratio of minutes to hours to days. It’s strange.

Because it passes quickly, in retrospect. So quickly it almost leaves Zoe feeling winded. The air outside has turned cold, and Zoe’s taken to wearing sweatshirts to bed to fight off the evening chill. Christmas is around the corner; Cynthia’s already starting decking out the house. 

The year has gone by so fast.

But in the present, in the moment, it’s slow. 

Lazy and leisurely, with wide, open spaces between each passing minute. 

It kind of reminds Zoe of being in elementary school. When Zoe was a child, every day seemed like an eternity. The recess bell seemed miles away; Saturdays were practically unreachable. Each day was packed tight with craft projects and story time and fighting over the last empty swing on the playground. Birthday cupcakes and trading snacks at lunch. Learning new curse words and tittering about them under whispered breaths when the teacher was out in the hall.

Each day had seemed full, because Zoe, like all kids her age, was experiencing everything for the first time.

And when you’re experiencing something new, a new feeling, it kind of seems like a big deal, and it’s like time slows down so your brain can process everything in the background.

So Zoe’s days move slow and fast all at once, her brain quietly adjusting to the unfamiliar sense of peace, to the ripening happiness that seems to be everywhere now, all around her.

She’s just...not used to it. She’s not used to things being _good._

She’s not used to feeling good things. 

Some days Zoe thinks maybe it’s weird, how invested she is in her big brother’s relationship with her best friend. 

Maybe she should be grossed out about it? 

Or annoyed?

Or just...indifferent?

But she’s not. She can’t be. 

Because there’s nothing gross about the fact that after Evan had left, that first day after his steady, unwavering confession in the Murphy’s living room, Connor had eventually appeared in Zoe’s doorway, rosy-cheeked and practically jumping out of his skin, and _insisted_ on taking her out for ice cream.

_“Ice cream is happy food, Zoe. Also if I don’t distract myself with something right fucking now I’m just gonna text him like a million times and freak him out. Plus I kind of owe you. I_ _really_ _fucking owe you, actually, I can’t believe all this time you were trying to... Just. Just fucking come eat ice cream with me, OK?”_

And there’s nothing annoying about the fact that Connor’s had a dopey grin permanently tattooed to his face for the past three weeks, or that now, when his head pokes around Zoe’s door, he actually sticks around long enough to have a conversation. Not always about Evan, either. He asks how band’s going, and checks to see if she needs any more help with algebra, and once he’d stood in her doorway and just started inexplicably tossing gummy worms in Zoe’s direction while she tried to catch them in her mouth.

And of course the subject of Evan _does_ come up. A lot. ‘Evan said this today, Zoe’, and ‘Evan did that today, Zoe,” and ‘Evan might be the greatest human being on the planet and _no_ I’m absolutely _not_ biased, it’s just a fact, Zoe.’ 

But it could never be annoying, not when it makes Zoe’s heart feel so full.

And how could Zoe possibly feel grossed out or annoyed or _indifferent_ about the long string of texts she’d received from Evan just a few days ago?

**Evan:** hey so i just wanted to say that i miss you and i’m sorry i’ve not really hung out with u much lately?? 

**Evan:** Been kind of preoccupied with connor and omg i’m so fucking happy u have no idea, he’s just ahgdsahdkasf <3 <3 <3 

**Evan:** i don’t even know. there are no words. He’s w o n d e r f u l 

**Evan:** and you need to know that this would absolutely 100% not have happened if not for u, love u so fucking much

 **Evan:** but also just because connor and i are together now (!!!!!) doesnt mean that u and i arent friends anymore?? 

**Evan:** like i was never hanging out with u just because of connor and i just needed to make sure u knew that 

**Evan:** and if it feels like i was using u im so so sorry because i actually really miss u and ur like my best friend and maybe we could all hang out together some time this week?? if u want??

  


Which is how they’d come to be huddled around the Murphy’s coffee table; the two boys on the couch and Zoe on the floor, sinking uncomfortably into an old beanbag they’d unearthed from Connor’s closet.

The newly put-up Christmas lights are glowing warmly, and the heating is cranked, and every time Evan meets Connor’s eyes his cheeks darken and his lip twitches reflexively, like it’s Evan’s natural state to smile in Connor’s presence. 

It’s cute. It’s really fucking cute. 

And Zoe can’t help but feel a surge of pride, and something like accomplishment, because she totally played a part in making this happen.

  


But the thing is...

She kind of hates herself for it, really. She wants to just...be happy for Evan and Connor. And she _is_ happy for them. She absolutely is.

  


But sometimes it makes her feel weirdly lonely. 

  


It makes her feel lonely, the way that Connor presses his cheek against the top of Evan’s head when he hugs him, or the way that Evan brushes Connor’s hair back from his face, or the way that sometimes Evan will wander out from Connor’s room wearing a sweatshirt that’s obviously not his, with the arms way too long, dangling past his fingertips.

It even kinda makes her feels lonely when Evan playfully flails his dangling sleeves around like he’s an octopus and whacks Zoe in the face with them.

But it’s only sometimes. And only a little bit. 

And only when her brain is processing...new things in the background.

_Other_ new things.

But mostly, she’s happy. Everything is pretty fucking great, after all.

The sound of Evan’s sudden burst of laughter yanks Zoe out of her reverie, and she awkwardly hoists herself up from where the stupid beanbag is swallowing her to get a better view of the table; the game board and the paper and the pencil held clumsily in Connor’s non-dominant hand.

And she immediately starts giggling, too.

Because...what? 

What the actual fuck _is_ that?

"It's a mitten," Evan insists, still laughing. "Like...a mitten made for a lobster. Or some animal with claws. Lobster mitten."

"It's not a fucking lobster mitten!" Connor squawks indignantly. "Why the fuck would it be a _lobster mitten,_ you absolute--"

Evan laughs harder.

“Is it like...an oven mitt?” Zoe tries, voice wavering as she tries hard to suppress her own giggles. 

Connor gives her a _look_ , and the dam breaks; she dissolves into helpless laughter, sliding out of the beanbag and onto the floor, red-faced and wheezing. She can’t make eye contact with Evan, she just can’t, because she _knows_ they set each other off, but she also can’t _help_ but look at him, and Connor just sits there, livid, while she and Evan laugh and laugh and laugh.

“ _No_ , it’s not an oven mitt, _Jesus--”_ he says, raising his voice to be heard over the two of them.

"Time's up, anyway," Zoe finally manages to choke out, nodding in the direction of the little plastic hourglass, wiping actual tears from her eyes. "What was it?"

Connor glowers at his own lopsided, objectively terrible pencil drawing.

"A cactus," he mutters, and for some reason that makes Zoe’s wild giggles start up all over again.

"Oh, I see it now," Evan says, eyes bright with mirth. "These are supposed to be _spikes._ I thought you were trying to make it look fuzzy. You know. Like a mitten."

"I'd like to see you two fuckheads do any better, drawing left-handed," Connor grumbles, glaring at his splinted fingers.

"You're just shitty that you're losing for once," Zoe teases, grinning widely, and Connor scowls in response, crossing his arms sulkily over his chest.

“Pictionary was kind of a cruel suggestion, to be fair,” says Evan, smiling gently as he gives Connor’s arm a consolatory little squeeze.

“Yeah,” Zoe agrees cheerfully. “I’m a cunt, remember?”

Connor flips her off.

“Wow,” says Zoe, hauling herself to her feet with some difficulty, because every time she moves she just seems to sink further into the beanbag. “If that’s the way you’re gonna be, maybe I’ll only bring back enough chips for myself.”

“Bring back the sour cream and onion or you’re dead to me,” Connor retorts, and Evan gives him a reprimanding jab in the ribs with his elbow.

  


Zoe barely makes it to the living room doorway when she hears the gentle click of lips disconnecting, reconnecting, the shifting of weight on the sofa behind her.

There’s a soft sigh.

One of them moans quietly. Zoe's doesn’t know who. 

Zoe doesn't _want_ to know who.

So OK. 

Maybe it _is_ a little gross, and a little annoying. Sometimes.

“Can’t you at least wait until I’m fully out of the room?” she calls, keeping her gaze straight forward as she strides purposefully into the kitchen, because...ew.

“Nope!” Connor replies, sounding way too fucking pleased with himself. 

“You’re the worst,” Zoe yells in the general direction of the living room, rummaging through the grocery bags on the counter.

"Keep it up, Zoe, I'll make out with him on your fucking bed, do not test me,” Connor shouts back, and just for that Zoe bypasses the sour cream and onion chips and digs out the Doritos instead because fuck you, Connor, now she’s got that fucking image in her head.

" _Why_ would either of you even _want_ to do that, Connor? That's _weird,"_ she yells, and Evan pipes up, going "Yeah, I'm not on board with this, Connor--" only to let out a muffled squeak of outrage, like Connor’s slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. 

"Solely to gross you out," Connor interrupts gleefully, still shouting the house down, because Zoe and Connor are cut from the same cloth, and no they _can’t_ wait until they’re in earshot of each other, this conversation has to happen right _now_ , across several rooms and at Volume Level 100. It drives Cynthia up the wall.

"You gross me out every day just by existing, fuckface," Zoe shouts in return, begrudgingly grabbing the sour cream and onion chips too, before heading back towards the living room.

"Love you too, Zo,” Connor says dryly. 

He extends grabby hands in the direction of the chips, and Zoe tosses the bag of Doritos at him, letting out a crow of triumph as it hits him square in the face. Connor yelps, then whines, "No, gimme the sour cream, asshole.”

Zoe does not.

“In all fairness, Zoe," Evan interjects, eyes sparkling as he gestures vaguely between himself and Connor, "like, you say you’re grossed out, but...you're pretty much the one responsible for this, so…"

“Only ‘cause you two are fucking _hopeless_. I don’t think I could have dealt with you both pining for another goddamn six months. Six years. Six decades, probably.”

Connor snorts derisively at her.

“You’re just fucking salty that your ass is still single.”

Zoe pointedly ignores him. She pops open the bag of chips that Connor’s still reaching for, and makes a big show of eating an enormous handful. Connor flails about on the couch, trying to get up to snatch the bag from her, but Evan's legs are sprawled over his lap, trapping him in place.

“Wait," says Evan suddenly, realization dawning on his face. 

Connor stills beneath him. 

"If Zoe’s still single, does that mean that it’s like... _our_ turn to set _her_ up with someone?”

Zoe feels her eyes widen in alarm.

“Oh god no, please don’t.”

“We _could_. We totally could.” 

Connor gives her a wicked, scheming look, and Zoe buries her face in her hands, feeling a wave of abject horror sweep over her.

“I would really rather you didn’t," she replies tightly. 

Her brain spins together the threads of the past few months into an anxiety-inducing tapestry of images; Evan moping in her bedroom, and Connor stuffing curly fries into his face to avoid admitting he'd caught feelings, and Connor's fist connecting with the tree, and the moon following Zoe and Connor home.

They'd made it, in the end. 

But _Jesus Christ_ it had been a mess of a journey.

Boys are useless. Completely fucking useless.

There's no _way_ Zoe would trust these two to play matchmaker for _her._

“I mean," Evan pushes on, apparently oblivious of Zoe's discomfort, "I guess we’d have to figure out who Zoe’s crushing on, first.”

“Yeah, but Zoe doesn’t like anyone, so.”

And like. Three weeks ago, Zoe would have been inclined to agree. 

Honestly, she’d been so caught up in the whole Evan/Connor saga that she hadn’t really had much time to mentally process very much else.

But things have changed a little in the past couple of weeks.

Time’s been moving different; full and fast but still stretching on and on. And Zoe’s brain has been ticking away in the background, trying to sort through all the feelings. 

The feelings she’s...not used to. The happy ones that still somehow make her chest ache with loneliness.

The feelings that aren’t _just_ to do with Evan and Connor’s objectively adorable, blossoming relationship.

Because something has been blossoming in Zoe, too. 

Something else.

Zoe tries to square her jaw, to force a nonchalant expression, to switch off the little projector flicking images around in her brain.

But she still sees dark, pretty eyes and a bright smile and long box-braided hair and spectacles slipping down a button nose and…

“Nope,” says Zoe as firmly as she can. "Nope, I don't."

She takes another huge fistful of chips and shovels the whole lot into her mouth. 

Evan is giving her a curious look, eyes narrowed like he's trying to read her face.

Zoe fixes her gaze on the chip packet and pretends to be very interested in reading the nutritional information.

"Zoe…" Evan says slowly, and Zoe purses her lips, then says, "Nope," once more.

Connor's eyes dart from Evan to Zoe and back again, like he's trying to figure out the obvious unspoken secret that’s being thrown back and forth between them.

"Zoe,” Evan says again, and he’s giving her this knowing grin, his eyes bright. “Zoe, who is it?" 

And Zoe’s decided that she _wants_ the beanbag to swallow her, now, she wants to disappear into a hole in the ground and die, never to be seen by humans again, with a closed-casket funeral so nobody gets to look her awkward, embarrassed face, _here lies Zoe Murphy, she died of shame and maybe from choking on sour cream and onion chips because she couldn’t stop stuffing her face as a means of trying to distract herself from this fucking terrible conversation._

Connor lets out a sudden crow of, “oh shit, no _way!”_ and Evan says "Zoe," again, and Zoe demolishes another handful of chips, shaking her head vehemently.

"Zo, c'mon, don't be like that--"

“Zoe, don’t you trust us?”

“Come on, Zoe--”

"It doesn't matter anyway!" Zoe wails abruptly, sending chip crumbs flying.

There's a long silence.

She’s aware both boys are staring at her; she can see them in her peripheral vision, but she obstinately refuses to look at them.

Her face feels way too hot.

"Wait...what do you mean it doesn't matter?" asks Evan slowly, deliberately, and Zoe shakes her head again.

"I mean...she doesn't even know I'm bi, so…" Zoe mutters dejectedly.

It’s quiet again for a long moment.

But then, out of nowhere, Evan lets out an incredulous burst of laughter.

Evan is laughing at her.

Evan is laughing at her, and he has no _idea_ what this is like, he has no _idea_ how Zoe’s feeling, and he’s _laughing at her._

She shoots him a steely look.

Evan’s mouth snaps shut almost immediately, and he stares at her in total disbelief.

“I...sorry. I...I thought you were _kidding?_ You’re...you’re kidding, right? After everything…?”

"It’s just that... I'm pretty sure she's straight,” Zoe tries to justify. “And even if she's not, she doesn't like me like that. I know she doesn't. I mean, why would she? She deserves…" 

And now Connor's laughing too, shaking his head at her in amazement, going, "Zoe, are you fucking for _real?"_

"Wait, no," Zoe protests, because this isn’t the same thing, this isn't the same as Evan and Connor at _all_ , it’s _totally different,_ and she’s feeling kind of wound up, now, kind of upset, almost humiliated at the sound of the bewildered laughter from the boys squeezed together on the couch, because this is _serious_. " _No_ , that isn't--"

"Zoe," Evan says soothingly, suddenly sensing her distress. "Zoe."

He shifts off the couch, and kneels on the ground at Zoe’s side.

“Feels different on the other end of things, doesn’t it?” he teases gently.

He squeezes her shoulder comfortingly. 

“It’s…”

Zoe opens her mouth, closes it again. 

Tries to find the right words.

“It’s the best feeling in the whole world but it just...fucking _sucks,_ ” she whines.

Connor laughs fondly. 

“What a mood,” he murmurs, and Zoe feels something unclench and relax within her, and she finds herself laughing softly, too. 

"Maybe we can spitball some ideas?" Evan offers, Zoe's words from that very first day in the Murphy kitchen fitting in his mouth like they belong there. "Operation dog adoption?"

But Alana Beck isn't a dog. And she isn't lost and bleeding in the woods.

Alana Beck is a bird, maybe. Clever and curious, soft and vibrant.

Soaring.

Well and truly above Zoe, too high, out of reach. 

Alana Beck is sunshine and fluttering wings and everything good in the world.

But Evan's sentiment is there, and it's warm and gentle and welcoming.

Zoe hesitates.

Because these wonderful boys that Zoe adores are stupid and hopeless, and they have absolutely no idea how love works, how _any_ of this works.

And apparently, neither does Zoe.

Zoe takes a deep breath.

"Yeah," she agrees softly.

The Christmas lights twinkle and Zoe’s cheeks still feel warm, and she presses her hands to them, feeling the swell of her own blooming smile. 

"Yeah, OK. Operation dog adoption."

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
